With A Little Help From My Friends
by sharmini
Summary: Modern AU. A story of friendship, inspired by a Bollywood movie. Arthur/ Guinevere. Other pairings to emerge in later chapters.
1. Chapter 1

This is an AU that has been rattling around in head for a very long time. It came about when I was watching this Bollywood movie about three friends. I immediately thought of the guys in the series and after a few false starts, here it is.

I would like to apologize before hand for over-long chapters and grammar mistakes. I write whatever runs in my head and sometimes it can be a little incoherent.

Of course, Merlin does not belong to me. I would settle for the Crowned Prince of Camelot (soon to be Regent, perhaps?). If he is unavailable, I would settle for Sir Gwaine.

I love feedbacks. So, let me know if I am doing this right or otherwise.

* * *

><p>It was an hour past closing time, but the party of four guys at the table in the centre of the bar were showing no signs of slowing down for the evening…or early morning, to be exact. Having had just delivered another round of drinks, the bartender went on with his futile task of wiping down the bar again. For the fifth time. By then, he was sure that his bar was probably the most hygienic one in the whole of the UK. He could not throw them out; they tipped him well…very well, actually. And they seemed in the midst of celebrating something. One of them must be getting married, he thought. The bartender could not possibly put an end to such…boisterous celebration.<p>

Maybe another half an hour.

"One more round, Tom!" The brunette of the bunch called out, pushing his shoulder – length, stylishly unkempt hair out of his eyes.

Perhaps after this round, the bartender, whose name actually Tim, thought to himself, as he poured put and mixed up their various drinks…he has already memorized their drinks; the blond one, who looked as if he belonged with royalty, drank scotch, on the rocks. The dark – haired one, who had remained mostly silent until the third round, when he started with some bawdy tales involving backpackers' hostels in Ireland, drank martini, two olives. The other dark – haired bloke, the one who looked as if he grew up in a cupboard without any sun or food, had martini too, without the olives. The brunette, who kept the alcohol ever – flowing at their table, drank straight whiskey. All these were in between uncountable rounds of lager, chips and, surprisingly, bananas. But as drunk as they were, they never mistakenly drank someone else's order. This must be quite an achievement for them, because quite frankly, the four of them were beyond pissed.

The bartender delivered their orders and stayed for a joke, at the pale bloke's behest, laughing politely with them before excusing himself to wash more imaginary glasses.

He was washing the hand towels in the sink when he overheard the blond bloke telling a joke. He could not make out most of it, but whatever he was saying it must have been the world's funniest joke because the rest of his friends were already laughing so hard that it was impossible that they could actually be listening to the joke.

"…and then…and then…Merlin said…_'Arthur, I forgot my pants'_!"

Everyone at the table erupted in laughter; the brunette actually slid off his seat, fell to the floor, clutching his stomach. The bartender wondered if it was a medical emergency, the expression on his face was halfway between a wince and severe constipation, but his friends pulled him up and they seemed unconcerned, so he just let it go.

Forty – five minutes later, they finally started gathering their coats and mobile phones. The bartender breathed a sigh of relief; a large amount of tips is not a healthy compensation for a good night's sleep. He knew none of them were in any condition to drive and was about to offer to call for a cab when a man dressed in a chauffeur's uniform entered the bar. The guys called out their greetings; the bartender braced himself for another round of orders, but, the chauffeur was firm, but gentle, with his refusal.

As the four friends lurched and laughed their way to the awaiting car, a Bentley, the bartender felt compelled to help them, but a glance from the chauffeur halted him. They were managing quite well, helping each other. It was rather annoying to see them stumbling all over the place, but if one really had the patience; their friendship was very much evident to whoever was watching. When the dark – haired bloke hit his leg on a chair, the rest of them gathered around him, asking him if he was all right, looking as serious as they could be while struggling to stand. When they were sufficiently assured their friend was in no mortal peril, they had a good laugh about it…the pale bloke going as far as to demonstrate it. The bartender was not sure if these blokes deserved medals for being such excellent friends to each other or a box to their ears. He was almost afraid of what would happen if anyone tried to box one of them; said person would have three very vengeful friends to deal with.

Finally, they were all bundled up in the Bentley. Just before he left, the bartender offered one for the road to the chauffeur, sympathizing his predicament of having to deliver the blokes to their homes.

The chauffer said one drink would never suffice and added rather ruefully that he was driving. The bartender wished him luck and finally, closed and locked the front door, wondering what it would be like to have friends like them.

He could clean their table the next morning, but he always liked coming to work and seeing the bar spotless. He cleared the drinks glasses and the empty baskets of chips. When he lifted one of the baskets, he saw an envelope on the table. It was addressed to him. Puzzled, he opened the envelope. Two hundred pounds were in it, along with a folded note. The bartender opened the note and read it.

_A little bit extra for your troubles, Tim. _

_We might overstay…we hope you did not mind._

_Have one on us, mate. Thanks and cheers. _

The bartender smiled when he saw the note. He pocketed the envelope and cleared the table. He wished, as he wiped the table, he had friends like them. Who knew how to have a good time. He reminded himself to congratulate the one among them who was getting married the next time they came in for a drink.

=X=X=X=

It was almost two - thirty when Arthur and Merlin bumped their way into the flat. They almost fell over each other in their effort to get in through the front door at the same time, a cause of much laughter and amusement between them. They both got into the flat and hung their coats; they thought they were hanging it, but the hooks behind the door have mysteriously disappeared, so, they just let their coats drop to the floor. They took off their shoes and stage – whispered their way across the threshold, telling each other to be quiet, and managed to get to the living room without knocking anything over. Arthur was about to reach out and switch on the lights, when the lights miraculously came on by itself.

"I wished for the…hic…for the lights, you know," Merlin said, standing in the middle of the living room, his hands cupped above his eyes, shielding them as he looked at the ceiling light, fascinated as if Arthur had performed a magic trick.

"You could have wished for a brain, Merlin."

The speaker was a female. An angry female, to be exact.

"Guinevere!" Arthur and Merlin exclaimed at the same time, as if they were answering a quiz on the telly.

Guinevere, in her pyjamas and a thick bathrobe to combat the chill, had her arms crossed over her chest, eyes narrowed at them. She had been trying to sleep, which had been very difficult indeed, considering that she was thinking about the event tomorrow…or later that morning…and her friends who had gone for a night out in town. She was relieved to see Arthur and Merlin back, this meant that Gwaine and Lance would be safe in their homes, but that still did not mean she was irritated.

"It's Arthur's fault," Merlin was quick to defend himself when he realized that Guinevere was not in a very chirpy mood.

"Really?" Guinevere asked, not believing a word she was hearing. Merlin may be the youngest and palest among them, but Guinevere knew he was no push over for the rest of them. She looked at Arthur, who kept a steady gaze at her…or at least she thought he was looking at her…his gaze was slightly to her left…chewing his bottom lips. If it was not for the fact Arthur was drunk beyond himself, Guinevere would have thought that he looked really like an innocent boy…a sexy, innocent boy, if there was ever such a thing. But, it was not a really good time for analysing her attraction towards her friend. They guys should not have gone drinking; they had to be sober at the church tomorrow, but Morgana had insisted the guys have a good time. She had asked even asked Guinevere to go along with them, but Guinevere had declined. The guys had protested too, but Morgana would not hear of it. She said she was looking forward to her husband hung over for the church proceedings.

"Guinevere," Arthur said, approaching her. Guinevere swallowed, wondering what Arthur was going to do. Arthur embraced her, kissing the top of her head. "I love you…" he said, as he drew away from her. He smiled at her, a silly lopsided grin, and promptly passed out, falling in a heap to the floor next to her feet. Guinevere closed her eyes, taking deep, calming breaths, berating herself for almost believing a drunken man's declaration of love. She opened her eyes again and saw Merlin, another heap on the sofa. Knowing that there was nothing more she could do, she stepped over Arthur, went into their respective rooms and got their blankets. She spread the blanket on each of them, choosing not to act on the impulse that screamed at her to push away the lock of hair away from Arthur's closed eyes, and pushed a cushion under their heads. Then, she switched off the lights and went into the guest bedroom, settling in for what she was certain going to be a sleepless night, with so many thoughts and emotions swirling around in her head.

Sleep came to her in the early hours of dawn. She dreamt of Morgana in her wedding dress. Guinevere woke up to the sound of Merlin and Arthur scrambling to get ready to go to church. She wiped the tears in her eyes and started to get ready for Morgana's big day.

=X=X=X=

Uther Pendragon was far from pleased to see his son, son-in-law and their two friends stumbling into the church later that morning. They were not late or anything, but Uther had hoped they would at the church earlier. It was clear from their dark glasses, the economy of their movements and a distinct lack of speech that they had heeded Morgana's suggestion of getting drunk the night before. The four of them entered the church, led by Guinevere, who nodded at Uther as she took her place on the pew behind theirs. The four of them stopped when they saw Guinevere taking her seat and Merlin stepped forward to whisper something to her. She clearly disagreed with whatever being said, but Merlin stood his ground. Moments later, she came out of the pew and took her seat in the main pew, reserved for the Pendragon family and closest friends. Uther raised an eyebrow, but he did not say anything; Guinevere was, after all, Morgana's best friend since school. Besides, today was not a day for reminding people their stations in life.

"You do remember you are…," Uther began, as a way of greeting when Arthur approached him.

"Yes, I have not forgotten," Arthur replied and probably had rolled his eyes behind his sunglasses. He and Lance took their seat, with Uther between them. Lance sat at the far end of the pew, the seat closest to the altar. Merlin was beside Arthur, followed by Gwaine, who held Guinevere's hand, in case she wanted to escape to the pews at the back. There were another four places left in the pew; for Morgause, her husband Cenred and their daughter. The last bit of space was Morgana's seat.

The church began to fill up with people and when the clock struck nine – thirty, the priest appeared at the altar, just as Morgause kissed Uther hello and took her seat next to Guinevere. The priest waited until Morgause and her husband were seated, and then regarded the people gathered in the church; his expression changing from neutral to surprise when he saw the four friends with their sunglasses in the church. Uther closed his eyes, took a calming breath and then turned to look at his son and his friends, not bothering to hide his displeasure. Merlin crumbled first; he removed his Aviators to reveal bloodshot eyes. Lance did the same, followed by Arthur. Guinevere took off Gwaine's RayBans and stuffed it into her purse. The priest nodded his approval and began with a prayer to the Lord.

"We are gathered here today to say our goodbyes and pay our final respect to Morgana du Lac …"

All of Morgana's family and friends had taken an oath not to cry at the church ceremony. None of them could keep to their promise; Arthur's eulogy cut short because he broke down in the middle of delivering it. Their promise to Morgana had been futile, something they agreed to at the moment because they could bear to disagree with Morgana. And now, they cried for losing a part of their life…and for being unable to keep their promise to Morgana.

=X=X=X=


	2. Chapter 2

_Ten days earlier…_

_ Lance awoke with a start the moment his dreams took a wrong turn; from the light breezy seaside scene, it shifted unto him falling on the beach and unable to get up when his wife ran away from him, laughing. The image of him crying after his wife persisted fleetingly; his heart almost gave out from his anguish, until the dream dissolved as his awareness returned. He was at his wife's private ward; having fallen asleep on the armchair next to her bed. He had been writing, he had wanted to stay awake the whole night, but somewhere in the middle of the night, he must have dozed off. His notebook and pen, his primary writing instruments, where on the floor next to him. He bent down and picked it up, placing it on the night stand next to his wife's bed. That was when he had a momentary panic attack, upon realizing the bed was empty. He stood abruptly, pulling aside the quilt that had been placed on him, probably by Morgana when he had been asleep. He would have yelled for the nurse, but he did turn around and saw his wife, standing by the window. _

_ "Morgana?" he called out, as he approached her, wondering how she had managed to get to the window. Last evening had been an absolute nightmare, she kept slipping in and out of consciousness; one of her worst days. She has them on and off; some days she would seem as if she was her normal, healthy self again. Other days…well, on other days, they are given a hint of the horrible illness that had taken hold of her. _

_ His wife, bundled up in her favourite terry cloth robe, turned around slowly to look at Lance. Her face, though pale, was still as stunning as ever, more so when she smiled and beckoned him to her. He joined her in two strides, enveloping her into his embrace, letting her weight fall to him. She sighed as she settled her head on his chest, wrapping her arms around him. _

_ "It's a beautiful day," she observed, her eyes on the view outside the window. Lance agreed. It certainly was a beautiful day; the sun was shining and the sky was clear, an antithesis of the final days of autumn. Summer, as usual, had been dismal, but autumn had rolled in glorious and golden, and the morning was a testament that the weather in London does have its moments. _

_ "You want to go out?" Lance asked, kissing the top of her head. _

_ Morgana considered it for a moment and then replied, "No, it's all right." _

_ Lance tried to keep his apprehension at bay; he knew Morgana despised anyone getting upset with what she perceived to be essentially her 'problem'. "Do you need a doctor, love?"_

_ "I have everything I need right here," she said, looking up at Lance, smiling. Lance kissed her on her lips, gentle and lingering. Morgana's lips felt cold, her cheekbones visible underneath her skin that was almost translucent now. The most beautiful girl in the world…his wife. Lance too had everything he needed with him in his arms. Tears, involuntary, stung his eyes, and he found himself unable to speak. Not that he could have said much, anyway. All he wanted…he just wanted to stay right where he was, with Morgana in his arms, as far away from the reality of diseases, medications…and of death. _

_ "No tears, love, please," Morgana said, touching the side of his face. Her eyes glistened; she was crying herself, but as usual, she was putting on a brave front for him. Lance had no idea of the magnitude of pain Morgana must be going through; she had refused her morphine dosages initially, because she did not want spend her days doped up and not knowing what was going on around her. But two days ago, she had requested for it, and promptly asked forgiveness from Lance. Lance had spent the entire evening crying because he was unable to shield his wife from pain. _

_ "Have you considered what I told you?" Morgana asked, changing the subject to something she regards as highly amusing. _

_ "We have taken a vote," Lance told her, explaining in detail so that Morgana would know what they have decided. "Arthur, Guinevere and I feel it absurd…"_

_ "Merlin? And Gwaine?"_

_ "Undecided. But it doesn't matter. We have the winning majority. We are not going to do it." Lance spoke solemnly, wanting to make this the final conversation they will ever have of the matter Morgana had mooted yesterday evening. _

_ "Gwaine gave up just like that?"_

_ "Sometimes there are certain things that even Gwaine draws a line to," Lance said, trying to sound as gentle as he could. _

_ "Oh," Morgana said, releasing herself from Lance's embrace. Lance immediately regretted his words, but what Morgana had asked of them was impossible. Not to mention that it was slightly mad. It has never been heard of…_

_ "Morgana…" Lance began. "Ask of me of anything, love. Not this."_

_ "So you feel my admission to Heaven is not worth celebrating?"_

_ "Morgana, I don't…" Lance began but found himself unable to continue. Maybe it was the medication, but he was sure something had messed up Morgana's…facilities, for the lack of a better explanation. _

_ "I was not very happy when the whole lot of you turned up with massive hangovers on our wedding day," Morgana pointed out, as she made her way slowly back to her bed. Lance followed and took her hands, helping her to ease herself unto the bed. She sat on the edge of the bed and Lance pulled up the armchair to sit facing her. _

_ "That was different," Lance reasoned. His wedding, a garden ceremony at the Pendragon's ancestral castle in Tintagel, had been worth celebrating. Wife dying of cancer is certainly not in the list of top ten things to drink for. _

_ "So tell me what will you do on the evening before my funeral?" Morgana asked, a hard glint in her eyes. _

_ At moments like this, Lance was not sure if he should yell at Morgana, or just let loose the grief that has gripped his soul since the day the found about Morgana's condition. He wanted to ask Morgana to drop all this act of bravery; just show the world that she was scared. She did fight her disease, no one could deny that, but after her relapse, the doctor had given her 'the talk'. Lance wished Morgana could cry about it, but she did not, at least not in front of him or any of their friends. And ever since that day, she has had this absurd idea that he and their friends should have a celebration, get drunk to celebrate the fact that a life is about to come to an end at the ripe old age of twenty – five. Arthur had shot down the suggestion the moment he heard it, Guinevere was horrified, while Merlin and Gwaine, initially surprised, had shrugged and agreed that they expected Morgana to come up with something as absurd as that. _

_Besides, Lance did not have answer for the question Morgana was asking him. He wondered if she would accept the truth, that he would be contemplating ways to kill himself because he could not think of living without her. But it was answer that Morgana had forbidden him to contemplate. _

_ "Getting drunk is probably on the cards, right?" Morgana said, touching the side of her husband's face tenderly, as if he was the one dying of an incurable disease in his bones. Lance looked at her, tears glistening in his eyes, blurring his vision of her. He wanted to be brave but sometimes, being brave only built fragile, imaginary walls that left bigger holes when it eventually crumbles down. Lance knew he had a free-pass with displaying his emotions, his wife was dying and he was looking at a lifetime stretched ahead of him, littered with broken dreams and scars that will keep bleeding until he too died. _

_ Morgana chose to overlook his tears. It was hardly callousness in her part; she was already dying. And no amount of tears was going to convince the Powers That Be to overturn that verdict. She had already told Lance that she accepted the cards dealt to her, but she will go down fighting. "Why do it alone? Why not get drunk collectively, in a pub somewhere?"_

_ "Ask me something else, love."_

_ "I'm asking you to have a good time with your friends. What else can I ask of you?" Morgana said, incredulous. "Well, come to think, do you think the rest of them would agree to a '_I HEART MORGANA_' tattoo on their arms…"_

_ "I am sure they would be more than glad too."_

_ "With '_Hello Kitty_' embellishments?"_

_ Lance finally managed to laugh. Morgana's heart warmed at the sight of her husband laughing. She leaned forward and kissed him. "So, you'll do it?" she asked, breaking away from his lips. _

"_This…this feels…as if you are asking me to forget you," Lance whispered, reaching out and tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ears. He did it carefully, almost afraid the porcelain doll in front of him would break. _

_ "Forget me?" Morgana asked, feigning shock. "Lance du Lac, I do not want you to forget me. I want you to remember. I want you to remember the fact that I always want you to be happy." _

_ Of course she would, Lance though ruefully. Suddenly, he did not want to argue anymore. This topic was taking up too much conversation time. "We've already voted…"_

_ "You've been granted super-power status," Morgana said, grinning. "You have the authority to over-rule them…" When she saw Lance opening his mouth to protest, she quickly added, "Because I say so."_

_ "They will be upset…"_

_ "Upset?" Morgana said, her grin fading. Lance's heart constricted and he held his breath. The twinkle in her eyes had turned into a hard glint. He knew this look very well…she was struggling to contain a darker emotion. As much as Lance had wished Morgana had shown some signs of acknowledging the fate lined up for her, he could not help the apprehension he felt when he saw the emotions flickering through her eyes. He was ashamed to admit that he was actually afraid to face Morgana should she start crying in front of him. What would he tell her? What could he promise her? And how would Morgana deal with knowing that she had a coward for a husband? _

_ As quickly as the emotion had reared its head, Morgana was quick to subdue it. "Lance, none of you know the meaning of upset." Lance held his breath. The twinkle returned and she smiled again, although Lance, knowing Morgana's every nuance, noticed that the smile was just a little forced. "Uther gets upset if his morning paper is not folded with the edges sharp enough to stab someone with. This...this is a... trifle of a matter; not worth the effort to get upset with." She took her hands into his, holding it to her chest. Then, her smile softened as she continued, "Please, darling. Do this for me."_

_ She did not have to ask again. He agreed; he could not speak, because he did not trust himself not to cry if he did, so he nodded. Morgana smiled and kissed him. "You must do it. No breaking the promise, all right? I honestly don't have the time or energy to do a _'P/S I Love You'_, so I am holding you to your word."_

_ "They're going to kill me," Lance said, shaking his head as he thought of the verbal and physical methods his friends would use to voice their disagreement. _

_ "They wouldn't dare," Morgana said, sounding quite confident. "My husband is strong enough to deal with anything…" _

=X=X=X=

The sky was overcast during the ceremony at the churchyard. Golden and glorious autumn had turned brown and lifeless, matching Lance's emotions. He was sure he was dead, because how could a man stand still, when his wife was lying in a coffin, waiting to be lowered into a hole in the ground? Last night, he had gotten drunk with his mates and alcohol had dulled his pain. Today, the pain was back again, a dull repeating stab to his heart that rendered him numb. He was aware of Arthur, Merlin and Gwaine standing close, offering him support and comfort, but he doubted that would be enough. All he wanted to do was to walk up to the church and demand God why He had sentenced him to a lifetime of pain by taking away the only person he had lived for.

The priest finally finished his reading and closed the Bible. Dark clouds began rolling in, the light breeze becoming stronger and chillier. The priest looked at Lance, waiting for him to make the first move. Every one gathered there was waiting as well. Lance felt sick; they were waiting for him to say goodbye first to wife, so that they could do the same and return to their lives.

_ "My husband is strong enough to deal with anything…" _

He could hear her voice, a reminder that she was still very much a part of him. Lance took a deep breath and took a few steps forward. His hands shook visibly as he held up the stalk of red rose in his hand. Slowly he put the rose on the mahogany coffin in front of him. He wanted to just put the rose and walk away. Instead, the words stumbled out of his mouth, "I am so sorry, my love." He merely whispered the words, but his friends heard him. They saw the tears that fell from his face, dewdrops on the delicate petals of the rose. Lance moved away so that the rest of them could place white roses for Morgana.

Uther hugged Lance, squeezed his shoulder and then left, both of them having no words to comfort each other. One by one the mourners come to him; offering their condolences.

Some said Morgana was at peace; free from sickness, medications and pain.

Lance wanted to ask them how would they know that, but he could only stare ahead, at the silver fittings on the mahogany coffin.

Many told him to be strong.

Lance had wanted to ask them how one can be strong when their soul is dead.

_"My husband is strong enough to deal with anything…" _

He watched as the mahogany coffin was lowered into the hole. In his mind's eyes, he saw the reality that he could accept; where he threw himself unto the coffin, prying it open, and taking hold of his wife, never wanting to let her go. Instead, he saw a nightmare unfolding in front of him, when the men began to fill the hole with earth. He wanted to wake up from the nightmare…he knew he could not.

The gravediggers were done just as it began to drizzle. He became aware of Merlin holding his hand in his. Guinevere had linked her arms through his; the both of them holding on to Lance. They were both crying. He turned to Arthur, who was looking at the fresh mound of dirt, his serious expression belied by the tears running down his face. Gwaine had both arms crossed at his chest, his jaw rigid, losing his battle and letting fresh tears fall.

It would have been easy to cry at that moment, but Morgana had left Lance one last task for him to complete. He was almost grateful for it; it gave him some semblance of strength. As he led Arthur, Merlin, Guinevere and Gwaine away from Morgana, he heard her voice again.

_"My husband is strong enough to deal with anything…" _

She had so much conviction when she had said that. He had to be strong for the rest of his friends; she had made him promise that the day she knew she was not coming out of her ordeal alive.

The time had come for Lance to prove it.

After all, he did whatever his wife told him. Including coming for her funeral with a massive hang-over.

=X=X=X=

Note : The next part; yes? No? Let me know.


	3. Chapter 3

**Thank you for all you reviews and alerts. It helped my Muses to work a little harder this week. **

**This chapter is a bit long...thought process could use a little editing. **

**Anyway, due to my eagerness to publish, I forgot one teensy detail. I promised someone I would dedicate my next multi-chapter story to her. **

**So, Hieiko, this one is for you. Sorry that the dedication came in the third chapter. My appreciation for all your reviews.**

* * *

><p>"Next time you're in my office, please refrain yourself from flirting with my secretary."<p>

Arthur gave this friendly warning to Gwaine, who was trailing after him into his office. Gwaine was grinning, as he waved over his shoulder to the secretary in question. Arthur had just returned from a breakfast meeting with a group of Dutch investors; at least, it had been a breakfast meeting, until it had stretched well into lunch.

"Too late for that," Gwaine said, as he kicked the door shut behind him. Gwaine was in one of his dark suits, which meant he had spent the morning in court. Despite behaving as if he needed a lawyer most of the time, Gwaine was actually a successful barrister. He proclaimed, whenever he could, that he was the only one who '_rocked'_ the horsehair wig; a claim that Guinevere and Morgana had agreed with, much to Arthur and Lance's chagrin. Merlin maintained indifference by claiming he was not at all threatened by a man who wears a wig and a robe to work.

"She's engaged to be married," Arthur told, placing some files on his table, as he sat down on his plush chair. He gestured for Gwaine to make himself comfortable. Gwaine plopped himself on the leather couch near the wall to the right of Arthur's table.

"She could do a lot better," Gwaine said, smoothing out his suit.

"Like you?"

"Your words, not mine," he shrugged, his expression a lesson in innocence.

"And he is ever so humble," Arthur mocked, shaking his head. "Why are you here?"

Gwaine held up the greasy paper bag that he had with him and watched as Arthur's expression changed from indifference to joy. He came to join him on the couch, as Gwaine pulled out the content of the paper bag.

"You may have your faults, mate, but you certainly know your fish and chips," Arthur said, appreciating the sight and smell that greeted him as he opened the food container Gwaine had passed him.

Gwaine acknowledged Arthur's appreciation with a salute using the plastic fork. He handed Arthur bottled water. They ate their first few bites in silence. "Heard from Lance?" Gwaine asked, trying to stab a chip with the plastic fork.

"Called him this morning," Arthur answered, giving up on the fork and using his finger to pick up the chip. "He said he was working on an article."

"Do you believe him?"

"No."

"Then, we should…" Gwaine begin, his protective instincts kicking on.

Arthur held up a hand. "No, we are not doing anything. Not yet, anyway." In a quieter tone, he added, "The man needs to grief. He just lost his wife."

"But we promised Morgana," Gwaine pointed out, frowning. It was a week since the funeral and he has only seen Lance once, when Gwaine, Arthur and Merlin visited him a day after the funeral. Lance did not talk much and after showing them that his fridge and pantry was fully stocked, he asked them to give him some time to pull himself together.

"I know we did," Arthur said, his voice patient. "But there are some emotions that even our friendship can't ever make up for."

"Tomorrow, then?"

"The rest of the working week," Arthur said, causing Gwaine to groan. It was Tuesday and Friday seemed a lifetime away.

"Not the Pendragon Industries working week, I hope," Gwaine finally spoke, looking rather put out. "Ever heard of the concept of a weekend? I can see the people here are stressed out, mate."

Arthur threw a chip at Gwaine. It hit Gwaine's shoulder and fell on the couch. Gwaine picked it up, thanked Arthur for the chip and ate it.

"We'll haul him out of the house on Friday evening," Arthur said, reaching for the bottled water. He looked at disdainfully at the bottle, and then at Gwaine, who shook his head, understanding Arthur's predicament; the food would have been great with a cold beer, but they were both still on the clock. The fancy bottled water from a mountain somewhere in Switzerland seemingly mocked them for having to make this work – related sacrifice.

"Good," Gwaine replied, popping another chip into his mouth.

"So," Arthur began, as he wiped his mouth with a paper napkin. "What brings you here, besides trying to entice my secretary into committing adultery and clogging my arteries?"

Gwaine put his food container on the coffee table in front of him, used a paper napkin to wipe his mouth and leaned forward towards Arthur. "Guinevere," he said and watched as Arthur carefully maintain that indifferent look he wore before, after the split second surprise of hearing Guinevere's name being uttered in his vicinity. It is a look that Gwaine and the rest of them were familiar with; something that Arthur, naturally, was not aware of.

By their estimations, Arthur had been in love with Guinevere ever since he was eighteen, but it could be longer. As much as Arthur was an open book regarding his life, Guinevere was a particularly difficult topic to mention with Arthur, because of the strong emotions that it undoubtedly involved and also because of the fact Guinevere was one of them. It would have been most…unsavoury, to put it mildly, to assume that they were both attracted to each other. The signals were certainly there, but it was mixed at its best. While the rest of them practiced caution, Gwaine was a champion of an Arthur / Guinevere relationship beyond friendship. He knew, without a doubt, that both of them were deeply in love with each other but were afraid to admit it because they were both comfortable with being friends. So comfortable, in fact, that it has made them both complacent. Gwaine decided that he needed to right the glaring wrongs that he sees in a world of Arthur and Guinevere not being with each other. He decided to bring his campaign out to the open.

"Oh," Arthur managed to say, as he put the food container on the coffee table.

"She's leaving this evening, Arthur."

"Yeah, she told this morning," Arthur replied, sounding as if he was choosing his words carefully. If Gwaine had been someone else other than a lifelong friend of Arthur's, he would have been hard pressed to believe that the man had any feelings towards Guinevere; Arthur had perfected the act of indifference with regards to the mention of Guinevere's name or her physical presence in the room.

"You're an idiot," Gwaine said, throwing caution to the wind and just diving headlong into it.

"What?" Arthur looked irritated. "Why?"

"For asking me this," Gwaine replied. "What is wrong with you?"

"I don't know," Arthur said, looking genuinely puzzled. "First I am an idiot, and now you are being...vague."

In his mind's eyes, Gwaine could see himself strangling his friend with the silver Hugo tie Arthur was wearing. "Vague?" Gwaine tried to rein in his annoyance by keeping calm. "Mate, there are so many levels of daftness going on inside that thick skull of yours!" He stood up as he continued. "Guinevere is going to Rome. Rome! A million miles from here."

"She's got work there," Arthur remarked, speaking as he would to a three year old child.

"You don't want her to go to Rome, Arthur," Gwaine said. He looked at Arthur, his expression imploring his best friend to admit to the truth just once.

Arthur took a deep breath and exhaled, getting up from the couch. He made his way to his desk and straightened a penholder, avoiding eye contact with Gwaine. But Gwaine was not to be deterred. He stood up and came to stand on the other side of the desk from Arthur. "What am I supposed to say to her?" Arthur asked, looking at Gwaine. "Stay, because I say so?"

Gwaine smiled. It was not much of an admission, but for now, this was good enough. In fact, this was the first any of them had gotten from Arthur regarding Guinevere after all this while. "Why don't you ask her to stay because you want her to?"

Arthur frowned at Gwaine, the vulnerable emotion on display moments ago being displaced once again by the invisible walls that guard Pendragons against overt displays of said vulnerable emotions. "What I want is hardly important. If Rome makes Guinevere happy, then..." If it was not for the frown on his face and the matter – of – fact way he spoke, Arthur would have actually sounded like a martyr of love. Once again, the image of strangling Arthur appeared fleetingly in Gwaine's mind.

"She should just go, right?" Gwaine finished for Arthur. "Excellent, I will help her pack."

"Sarcasm doesn't become you, Gwaine."

"And indifference only makes you look like an idiot."

"It's called self – preservation," Arthur countered back, sitting down at his office chair.

Gwaine almost shouted in triumph. Another admission. Things were beginning to look good. "Self – preservation against what exactly?" he asked, innocently. Arthur looked almost horrified, as if Gwaine was not meant to hear what he had just spoken a moment ago. But Gwaine decided to save Arthur from the pain of making up any idiotic excuses. "Mate, look, pining, publicly or in private, is a horrible, horrible process. Real men don't pine."

"Yes, we take charge, club our women on the head and carry them back to our cave," Arthur remarked drily.

"That's one way of going about it, I suppose," Gwaine replied with a grin. "Look, mate. I am asking you do to what you should have done a long time ago. Letting Guinevere go to Rome was a bad idea three years ago and is a worse one now."

"This concern for me," Arthur could not help back tracking for a bit. "You are not that selfless, mate."

Gwaine pulled up a seat opposite Arthur's desk. "You're right," he shrugged, taking a seat. "Imagine the pickings if Arthur Pendragon was to permanently hook up with a girl. So many broken hearts. It will be up to Arthur's ridiculously good – looking best friend to...help the ladies cope." Gwaine straightened his already perfect tie as he said this.

Arthur looked at Gwaine, his side cocked to the side. He appeared to be in deep contemplation. "If you ask me, Merlin is more of an acquired taste. You, mate, just look ridiculous."

Words alone have never been known to hurt Gwaine. "A rare Pendragon you are, Arthur. That could actually count for an excellent comeback. Somewhere in that aristocratic gene pool, you might have actually had an ancestor with a half decent sense of humour."

"Thank you."

"And if you have finished with your discourse of your friends' good looks, which I would like to say is most disturbing..." Gwaine did not get to the end of his statement as he ducked to avoid a flying pen. When he was sure Arthur would not be throwing any other stationary, he straightened up. "Go to her, mate. Ask her to stay. Tell her that you fancy her."

"Fancy her?" Arthur asked, an eyebrow rose in question of Gwaine's choice of vocabulary.

"You like...um...pasta. You would die for Man United. But, Guinevere, you fancy her," Gwaine attempted to explain. It made perfect sense to him, Guinevere fancies Arthur and Arthur fancies Guinevere. It is all this talking and more talking and not taking any actions that are keeping the both of them apart.

"So, Guinevere, to me, is somewhere between pasta and our favourite football club?" Arthur asked, his voice dry.

Gwaine thought for a few moments. Choosing his words carefully, lest he becomes the receiving end of some flying stationary again, he tried once more. "What I'm trying to say is, '_fancy'_ suits Guinevere and you. Unless, of course, I am completely off – track here and there are much, much stronger emotions are involved..."

Arthur did not take the bait, but he did shift uncomfortably in his seat. "Her job?" Arthur veered the subject back to its right track.

"Arrange something for her. Surely the Pendragon Group of Companies has some office place somewhere to renovate," Gwaine suggested.

"Guinevere would never approve of such blatant nepotism," Arthur told him.

"Excellent. Then you should definitely do it," Gwaine said, a sly smile on his lips. "Girls like a bad boy." He refrained himself from adding his disappointment that Arthur's bad boy creds extended only as far as excruciatingly boring corporate stuffs, even with Gwaine as his best friend.

"She will leave even faster," Arthur pointed out. A wistful look descended on his expression. "Guinevere is not like that..."

Gwaine nodded, smiling. "No, she's not," he agreed. "And so are you. This is the equation that makes the both you so..." Gwaine finished his explanation with a series of gestures that baffled Arthur.

"What?" Arthur asked, frowning.

"You know..." Gwaine tried again, making an all-encompassing gesture. "You and Guinevere..."

"I think I get it. Sort of," Arthur said, looking at Gwaine rather suspiciously.

"Good." Gwaine was glad Arthur understood. "So, Guinevere?"

"I'll think about it."

"Thinking is not good."

"I am not taking that advice from you," Arthur pointed out, probably thinking of at least a half a dozen times they had all narrowly escaped imprisonment whenever Gwaine had cautioned them against having second thoughts.

"One day, you will regret thinking too much," Gwaine pointed out.

"Mate, have you ever listened to yourself?"

"Mate, I am not going to let you change the subject," Gwaine remarked, checking his reflection on the glass window behind Arthur's desk. He ran his fingers through his hairs and let them fall perfectly in its place again before turning to face Arthur. "I have decided. Guinevere is not going to Rome."

Arthur took a deep breath, calming himself. He looked as if he was struggling with his feelings. "Don't do anything stupid," he muttered.

"I promise I will not listen to THAT advice," he said, the cocky grin on his face again. He turned to leave the office. "Enjoy the rest of your lunch, mate. I will see you at the flat at seven. Cheers."

He was already out of the door, when Arthur called, "What are you going to do?"

Gwaine ignored him. He picked up a yellow gerbera from the flower arrangement in the middle of the foyer and gave it to Arthur's secretary, winking at her. "Have a good day, darling," he told her.

"Gwaine?" Arthur called out, following him out of his office, frustration and urgency apparent in his voice.

"I'm going to ask her to marry me," Gwaine replied, turning around and looking at Arthur. He walked backwards to towards the lifts. He grinned at the stunned look on Arthur's face. "Try and stop me if you can." He gave a little wave as he turned and stepped into the open lift. The last thing he saw was Arthur standing at the foyer to his office, hands clenched by his sides.

Jealousy or anger, Gwaine would accept both emotions if it meant keeping Guinevere from going to Rome. He would also risk Arthur's wrath; all Gwaine wanted was for his friends to be happy.

And their little group...family, by any other definition, to be intact.

=X=X=X=

_Three years ago..._

_ When Merlin sulked, he ate. _

_When Gwaine sulked, he shouted at the telly. _

_When Morgana sulked, she glared at Lance. _

_When Lance sulked, he retreated into his office room, if he was home and stayed there until his mood cleared. He was home on the day Guinevere broke the news of her new job in Rome, so it was convenient for him to do so. It was also a means of not having to see Morgana glare at him unnecessarily. _

_When Arthur sulked he put himself through a punishing exercise regime. Seeing that the exercise bicycle in Morgana's house was broken and he was half a mile away from the nearest gym, Arthur channelled his sulking energy into squeezing the life out of one of Morgana's cushions. _

_ Guinevere sat on the sofa, hunched down with her elbows on her knees, bearing the weight of all the angry emotions swirling in the room at that moment. In her hands was a plane ticket, with her name on it, bearing the designated destination of Rome. On the coffee table before her, a letter lay open on top of a carefully ripped envelope. The letter head bore the name of an architectural company located in Rome. The letter had been signed by one of the partners of the company, offering Guinevere the position of as a designer. She was to start her work on Monday morning. It was late Saturday evening. And none of them gave any indication that they were happy about Guinevere gaining employment at such a prestigious company. _

_ They had returned from picking up Lance and Morgana at the airport. The newly –weds had their honeymoon in Morocco and returned with souvenirs and tales of the hot sun, desert and strange food. They went back to Morgana and Lance's flat, to an English feast prepared by Guinevere and Merlin. Lance and Morgana told of their adventures in Morocco, Merlin of one his paintings being bought by a private collector and Gwaine going out on a date with said collector. Arthur told of a business deal he closed, to which Lance, Merlin and Gwaine pretended to have dozed off. During pudding, Guinevere told that she landed a job. Everyone cheered and drank to her new job. And then, she announced the job was in Rome. The silence that followed had been deafening; Merlin's spoon fell to his plate, a clattering noise that startled them out of their skins. Dinner was over and with the guys volunteering to wash up, the girls went into the living room and Guinevere showed Morgana the letter from Rome. The sulking started soon after that. _

_ Half an hour later, Oprah signed off for the evening and just as Gwaine was about to switch on to the pre – game highlights weekend's football match to yell at some referees, Guinevere stood up. "I am doing this," she announced, her voice firm. _

_ "Why?" Merlin asked. _

_ Guinevere looked at Merlin, as if he had sprouted another head. "Because, Merlin..." she began, but she did not continue. The rest of them waited, the impassive expressions on their faces challenging her to explain. "I have to work."_

_ "Plenty of work here," Morgana challenged. "You did your apprenticeship at Sir Norman Foster's firm. They will take you back in a heartbeat."_

_ "I..." Guinevere's eyes flickered towards Arthur, who sat next to Merlin, his face in championship poker mode. "I need to expand my horizons a little. See the world a bit..."_

_ "We do that every summer," Gwaine remarked. _

_ Guinevere bit back a smile. "That's called a holiday, Gwaine. I need... I need...to be responsible. For myself. And it's been ages since I finished my studies. It's time I got cracking at a job."_

_ "When did you apply for this job, Guinevere?" Morgana asked suddenly, her eyes narrowed at the piece of offending correspondence lying on the table before her. _

_ "Two days after we graduated," Guinevere answered quietly. The rest of them looked at Guinevere, surprised as they realized the timeline. Guinevere had applied for the job the day Lance had proposed to Morgana. _

_ "And when did you get your answer?" This time it was the other Pendragon who asked the question. _

_ "The day before the wedding," Guinevere replied. She reckoned she might as well be truthful; she had never lied to them before and she was certainly not going to start now. The last two weeks had been harrowing enough; she had been wracked with guilt every time she spent her time with Merlin, Gwaine or Arthur and almost told Merlin about it. _

_ "Guinevere..." Morgana began, but she was too stunned to speak. The rest of them, except for Gwaine who was snarling at the football game he was watching, looked at Guinevere, demanding an explanation as to why she would do such a thing. She could see the unspoken accusations in their eyes; Guinevere was but one person, but if she leaves, their unit would be broken. It was not the question of breaking up their friendship; their bond could withstand the distance, not that it has ever been tested before. It was more of the reason as to why Guinevere has to do this...this was madness. They had always taken care of each other. And now...Guinevere saw the uncertainty in their eyes; they were unsure as to how to feel, how to respond to such a situation because it was something none of them had ever even dreamed of doing. _

_ This was something way out of their comfort zone. _

_ "Why Rome?" Morgana asked. _

_ "They are offering me the best incentives," Guinevere replied quickly. "Besides, it's Rome, you know," she added, shrugging, hoping they would understand that she always loved the Italian capital; it had always been her favourite holiday destination. _

_ "Great art. But it doesn't make any sense to have you waking up an hour earlier than the rest of us in a place that's two hours away from here," Merlin mused almost to himself. "Sorry, Guinevere, but we cannot allow you to go."_

_ At the sight and sound of Merlin speaking, Guinevere almost cried. He was looking at her; his big brown eyes shining, evidence of a battle of will that was holding his emotions in check. His voice sounded as if he was almost joking with her, but there was no humour in his quiet voice. His facts may be right, having been put that way, but there was anguish in his voice that Guinevere had never heard before. _

_ "I..." Guinevere began, not knowing how she was going to begin to give an answer for Merlin. _

"_How many firms to you apply to?" Gwaine asked suddenly, in his cold barrister's voice; the one that was his favourite party trick. But this time, Gwaine was inquiring as a lawyer seeking out the truth. _

_She only applied to the one in Rome, but she was not sure if her friends would have accepted that, so she decided to tweak her reply a little, add another half a dozen or so to her answer. The universe must have had a thing against Guinevere lying to her friends, as she interrupted by Lance who walked into the living room. He saw the impasse in the room and sighed, taking a seat on the couch next to Morgana. _

"_I think that we are doing this the wrong way," Lance spoke, his voice quiet and steady, taking Morgana's hand into his. "Perhaps what Guinevere needs now is not our questions but our support."_

_There would have been protests to this but Arthur spoke just then. "Yes," he said, looking at all of them, except for Guinevere. "We may not like the decision, nor the geography involved, but we can support what Guinevere wants."_

_Gwaine was the first to react. He switched off the telly, told the room in general he had an early appointment with a client the next morning and left the flat. The rest of them must have seen the hurt in Guinevere's eyes, because one by one they came to her and hugged her, congratulating her, though hardly looking at her. There were some tears too, but it was inevitable. They finally laughed when Gwaine came back into the flat, gave Guinevere a hug and left again as promptly as he had come in, muttering something about leaving his keys behind. _

_They all came the next evening to send her off, making rudimentary inquiries of Guinevere's living arrangements and working hours. They extracted promises from her that she would call them. She promised she would return for Christmas, two and a half months away. And then, without looking at any of them, Guinevere picked up her bags and left them, the collective look of forlorn too much for her to handle. She cried all the way to the boarding gate, all the way to her seat, cried some more when she realized her friends had upgraded her Economy Class to Business Class and did not stop crying until she disembarked at the airport in Rome. She went straight to the flat he company had leased out for her and spent the rest of the evening sitting on the living room floor of her flat, her mind made up to leave in the soonest available flight back to London. It took a phone call from Merlin, whom she knows was feigning happiness for her sake, to make her resolve. She answered all his inquiries of her trip and flat in an enthusiastic voice that she was sure he would not take long to realize was fake. It was the worst ten minute phone call she had ever had and by the time she hung up, she knew she had the support of her friends to achieve whatever she aspires to be in Rome. And she could not let the small matter of being homesick deter her from pursuing what is her life's ambition. _

_She did not return to London for Christmas, not that she had to, for the rest of them showed up at her office on the evening of the twenty third, declaring they were celebrating Christmas in Rome. They took her home for New Year and reluctantly let her leave two days later. Guinevere had never had a more perfect holiday with her friends than she had the first year she was in Rome. She found it easier to return to Rome on that occasion, no thanks to the support of her friends who were finally convinced Guinevere's career was benefiting from the geographical change. But what made saying goodbye easier had everything to do with the girl Arthur introduced to the rest of them on New Year's Eve, Sophia. Apparently, everyone was moving on with their lives. It made Guinevere slightly angry to realize this, as she still had not fully unpacked her clothes from her suitcase. But she chose to leave and at least Arthur was open about having feelings for another girl. She returned to Rome, unpacked her suitcases and spoke sharply to her reflection on the mirror, asking her to move on from school girl crushes. _

_It did not do her any good because Arthur was not a mere crush. He was the love of her life. _

_Guinevere put three thousand miles between them. So, Arthur moved on. But she stayed exactly where she was, clinging on to a past that was fading into memory. _

=X=X=X=

Morgana told her, on one of her lucid days, that she hated every girl Arthur introduced to them. When Guinevere had asked why, Morgana simply said, "Because it's not you."

Guinevere did not why of all the things she should be remembering of Morgana, she should be remembering this little statement. It was not the most comfortable of a topic to discuss about, nor was it the easiest to conceal from the one person who knew her more than anyone else. But somewhere along their fifteen years of friendship, Morgana had figured out that Guinevere was more than mildly attracted to her stepbrother. Guinevere had never encouraged Morgana or anyone else, once they had come to the similar conclusion, to ever talk about it, with the penalty of her not speaking to them forever. But that does not mean that she could stop them from speculating behind her back; and it was all they would talk about whenever they discussed about Guinevere after she left to Rome. Not in the presence of Arthur, of course, because they all thought he was an idiot. Not to mention, partly the reason, they realized, Guinevere had accepted the job offer in another country. But since relationships were often a delicate matter, more so when friendship was at risk, not to mention the dynamics of their own little circle at stake, their hands were tied. Something that Guinevere was eternally grateful for because, for the life of her, she could not imagine the awkwardness that would arise if Arthur ever found out. They had a nice little friendship going on and Guinevere did not want to rock the boat on the basis of her one – sided attraction to Arthur Pendragon. She had learnt to deal with the disappointment of seeing Arthur with another girl by throwing herself into work and it was an arrangement that suited her fine.

Until now.

Guinevere's hands were paused right above her suitcase, where she was on the process of folding a jumper into the pile of clothes already in it. When she returned to London three weeks ago to look after Morgana, Arthur had driven her to his flat and told her to make use of the guest bedroom. For the past three years, she had always stayed at Lance and Morgana's flat whenever she returned from Rome. Arthur's flat certainly had been convenient; it was the nearest to the hospital. Of course Merlin, who stayed with Arthur, would have balked if Guinevere stayed anywhere else. Gwaine offered a guest room at his town house but Guinevere never had the chance to accept it, she spent most of her time at the hospital with Morgana anyway. So, the living arrangements had remained unchanged, but not by choice.

And now, it was time for Guinevere to leave. The usual grief of leaving the place she loves, the people whom she would kill for and would kill for her, had already started to manifest since three says ago when she confirmed her flight tickets. This time, the grief felt a bit heavier. The loss of Morgana had been painful enough and now she was inflicting more pain on not only herself, but her friends as well. She could always delay her departure, she had some holiday accumulated, but she knew it would only make things worse later on.

Guinevere threw the jumper into the suitcase and sat down on the bed beside it. An assortment of her clothes and toiletries were strewn on the bed, waiting to be packed. It would take her less than ten minutes to clear everything out. It was the thought of those ten minutes that caused her to pause in her undertakings.

Ten minutes and she would packed and ready for Rome. Ten minutes to remove the traces of her presence in London.

In another seven hours, she would be in her flat in Rome, surrounded by photographs and memories of her friends in London.

And now that Morgana was gone...

A clean break. That is what she would do. The guys really did not have to look after her; she was an independent woman, capable of taking care of herself. She would return less to London and eventually...

And eventually, she would become a memory. For Guinevere, although was part of their circle, had always been, first and foremost, Morgana's friend. And a friend to the rest of them by default. The guys would have been annoyed if they ever heard Guinevere speak that way, but Guinevere had always felt that she belonged because of Morgana. And since Morgana was no longer with them, Guinevere saw no reason for her to hang around the guys.

Guinevere's history with them was fairly recent; fifteen years ago she was given a seat next to Morgana in the classroom at St. Matthew's, a public school in Tintagel. Guinevere was admitted to the school by merit of her distinctions from her local comprehensive and the fact her father taught horse-riding to the students there. The friendship was sealed when Guinevere supplied the answers to Morgana for an impromptu Maths quiz and Morgana told off some of the girls who had made fun of Guinevere's hand – me – down uniform. They were both ten and Morgana took Guinevere under her wings and it has been like that for almost all their schooling lives. University was pretty much the same, though Guinevere by now had blossomed into a woman of equal confidence and footing as Morgana. They shared digs with Lance, Arthur, Gwaine and when it was his time to join them, Merlin as well. Arthur and Lance graduated first and continued to live at the digs until the girls and Gwaine graduated two years later. Arthur received a luxurious flat in Chelsea as a gift from Uther and suggested all of them move into it. But Lance had other ideas; he took Morgana to look at a converted loft and proposed to her the moment she said she loved it. Gwaine had inherited a townhouse, which came with a butler and housekeeper and a classic Mini, from a distant uncle he never met. And Merlin had already declared that he would be staying with Arthur because Arthur was not getting married, nor would he be bringing different girls home every evening.

Perhaps it was the excitement of Morgana's pending wedding, perhaps it was the excitement of acquiring and moving into their own properties, but none had asked of Guinevere's accommodation plans, who at that time still shared a flat with Morgana and Merlin. Lance's proposal had pushed Guinevere into making her decision to leave London; she could not live by herself when she knew none of them would allow it, unless one or the other was sharing with her. Luckily for Guinevere, Lance and Morgana did not have an extended engagement; Morgana went from a first – class Economics graduate to radiant bride to wife in a matter of weeks. It took less time than that for Guinevere to uproot herself and make her clandestine preparations for Rome.

Even when she had no permanent home in London, all of them had gone out of their way in ensuring that she always had a home to return to at any of the dwellings. She always stayed in the spare room at Lance and Morgana's flat; which Morgana had decorated with memorabilia belonging to Guinevere just so that Guinevere knew that it was her home. But with Morgana gone, how long will the extra room remain a home before it becomes a burden?

She started packing again, aware of the lump in her throat dissolving as tears began to prickle her vision. Guinevere kept to her task; she had dealt with grief many times over and though this time it seems as if she could break down at any moment, Guinevere has decided that whatever breakdown that she knows she will inevitably suffer, she hoped it would occur in Rome. So that none of the guys could see her. She wanted their friendship. Not their sympathies.

When she finished packing, she made herself a sandwich that she ended throwing into the bin because she had not appetite for it. Knowing she needed to do something to keep herself occupied, she made some food that she could refrigerate so that Merlin would have something to snack on. The task took her all afternoon and at five o'clock, as Merlin announced his presence, Guinevere was putting the last of the food item into the fridge. She gave him instructions regarding the food and went to get ready to leave. Merlin had wanted to talk, he actually sounded serious about it, but Guinevere knew that Gwaine and Merlin would be double-teaming on her, so she was prepared to handle them both. She ignored him by talking of inconsequential matters until Merlin decided to drop it.

By the time she was ready, Gwaine had arrived, looking all grim. Guinevere tried not to look at Merlin; his eyes were shining, barely holding on to his emotions. Of all of them, Merlin had been the closest to Guinevere, telling her things that he could not tell Morgana or any of the guys. One word from Guinevere and Merlin would have happily moved to Rome with her, or they could have even shared a flat in London, but Guinevere could not bear to separate him from the people who are essentially his family. And one miserable person in the group is the limit every friendship has to put up with. Merlin would be happy in Rome, but he would always belong where the rest of them were. And the rest of them would always belong in London.

Guinevere...she belonged only to herself. As much as she would love to belong and knows she belongs with the guys, she knew there was nothing permanent between them. They will eventually have relationships and get married and move on. And Guinevere hated the idea of a third wheel, hanging on to their good will by the thread of nostalgia.

"I'm ready," she declared, hauling her suitcases out of the spare bedroom, now devoid of any of her belongings.

"Arthur said he will meet us at the airport," Merlin told Guinevere, averting his eyes from her and her luggage. Guinevere gave a brief smile to acknowledge the lie; she had heard Gwaine speaking to Arthur on his mobile and from the side of the conversation she heard in her room, she knew that Arthur was not going to show up at the airport.

He was busy.

Her heart broke, but she was used to it. She prayed for calm, until she reached Rome. She needed to be strong because Merlin looked as if he was going to cry and Guinevere did not want any furniture in the flat suffer from Gwaine's temper.

"Guinevere, I forbid you to go," Gwaine said, coming to stand between her and the front door as she slipped on her coat. Guinevere looked at Gwaine, glad that at least he was trying. "I love you."

Guinevere had to laugh. She came nearer to Gwaine and hugged him, kissing his cheek. "You tried that during Easter," she reminded him. "But thank you, anyway."

"It's not right," Merlin said, coming to stand beside Guinevere. He did his part by handing Guinevere her scarf, his way of blessing her return to Rome. It was a mechanical action, meant more of an assurance for Guinevere. "It has always been a big mistake."

"Christmas," Guinevere promised him. "I'll be back for Christmas."

Perhaps it was the hollow sound of her promise. Or perhaps it was the feigned happiness. Whatever it was, Merlin declared that he could not go the airport and left to his room after giving Guinevere a hug that nearly squeezed the breath out of her. Gwaine looked torn and Guinevere decided to make the decision for them. She insisted she would call a taxi, although Gwaine was horrified when he heard it. Guinevere called for the taxi herself, despite much protest from Gwaine and assured him that she will be fine. Her taxi arrived five minutes later and as she loaded her things into the taxi, Gwaine proposed marriage to her. Guinevere laughed, thanked him for trying and got into the taxi.

"Look after them for me," she told him, from inside the taxi, with Gwaine leaning outside. There was another hour and half before her seven o'clock flight, but she did not mind arriving early for her flight. The weather was unaccommodating as well, rainclouds had claimed the skies and it was a gloomy, windy evening. Not a good weather for saying goodbye.

"Me?" Gwaine asked. "You're mad. I'll lead them down the path of destruction."

"I'll call you."

"He said he will be at the airport." Gwaine's voice was quiet as he told her this. They both know the 'he' in question.

"It does not matter," Guinevere lied. "I understand he's busy." She leaned out of the window and gave Gwaine another quick peck on his cheek. "That's for Merlin..."

Gwaine smiled, shaking his head. "It wouldn't be the same," he told her, squeezing her hands tight.

"Take care, Gwaine," Guinevere told him one last time. "I love all of you."

"All of us love all of you too," Gwaine said, his voice faltering towards the end of this statement. It was something that Merlin would tell her before she left. He straightened up, giving the driver the go –ahead to drive away. Guinevere turned and felt a little foolish waving at Gwaine until the taxi turned at the end of the street. Gwaine stopped waving first and went inside the building. As the taxi drove away, Guinevere could physically feel the gap widening between her friends.

She thought she could be brave, at least until she was in Rome. She was not surprised at all she started crying barely before the taxi even left the street. She missed them all so much.

And she hated the fact that she never got a fighting chance to be with Arthur. And the fault was not that of badly-aligned planets. Guinevere never gave herself that chance.

=X=X=X=


	4. Chapter 4

**Three chapter update, because of all the lovely reviews I received. I am humbled and overwhelmed and the Muses are very appreciative and happy as well. **

**I hope you guys enjoy this. And please, let me know what you think. And if there's a mistake, let me know too. **

**Thank you all, so very much. **

* * *

><p>Anyone looking at Arthur sitting in the VIP lounge of the airport would have seen a calm, confident executive type; immaculately tailored suit and striking good looks. He sat by himself at one of the sofas in the lounge, his Burberry coat on an armchair next to him. There was a cup of coffee on the small table in front of him. The coffee was cold and untouched. He seemed to be fully absorbed in the financial section of the newspaper he was reading.<p>

Truth was, Arthur was anything but calm and confident. He had arrived at the airport earlier than he expected and now there was nothing for him to do but to wait. As he had waited for the last fifteen years for Guinevere to make up her mind about him. She had, somewhere along the way, chosen to remain as Arthur's friend. And since he was never entirely sure of exactly how she felt about him, Arthur had tried to have relationships with other girls. He proved to be a very good boyfriend to the girls, but none of them were the one for him. Because one autumn day three years ago, Arthur realized that the one girl who had ever mattered to him was on a plane headed somewhere far from him. He did not know if it was his fault; it seemed rather vain to think that a brilliant girl like Guinevere was only moving to Rome because she was trying to get over her attraction towards him.

Arthur had many opportunities to initiate something with Guinevere over the years, but she was guarded all the time. There was only once when she let her guard down. It had been during Lance and Morgana's wedding and as bridesmaid and best man respectively, Guinevere and Arthur had the obligatory dance. Arthur remembers every moment of those five minutes; the soft strains of music, the smell of her hair, the gold flecks in her brown eyes when she looked up at him, the pressure of her hand on his shoulder. She was the perfect fit for him. He remembers looking down at her and seeing himself reflected back in her eyes, it had seemed like the most natural thing in the world. He could have just bent down and kissed her...

But the song ended and Guinevere slipped away from him. Three weeks after that, she was in Rome. Partly because Arthur had encouraged her. Although he spoke of respecting Guinevere and letting her do what she wanted, what Arthur wished he had done was to tear up the letter, call up any of his contacts who might have a need for an architect and set her up in a nice flat within walking distance from his own and then take her out for a celebratory dinner and as they walk back home in the rain, tell her that he loved her.

Yes, Arthur loved Guinevere.

And in all his daydreams about telling her about it, it always seems to rain.

But in the end, he had waved goodbye to her and allowed her to leave him…leave all of them.

He knew the rest of them blamed him for allowing Guinevere to leave. But it was not until Gwaine's sort – of - confrontation in his office this afternoon have they ever talked about the matter openly. Arthur wished one of them had said something all these years. It would have saved a lot of time and effort he had spent trying to be indifferent to the most amazing girl…woman he had ever known in his life. It would have saved him from the perils of the dating scene as well; while he cannot deny that he had enjoyed himself on some occasions, most of the time, he had spent wondering what it would have been like if his companion had been Guinevere. It was a touch unfaithful to the girls he had been with, but at the end of the day, it was Arthur who had to look at himself in the mirror and carry the two-fold guilt of being unfaithful to his feelings for Guinevere and to the girls he had been with.

Arthur had long abandoned any notions of reading the financial section of the newspaper. It was old news anyway, but the newspaper remained as it was because it served as a tool to keep people away from him. He was in no mood to talk. He was in a state of excitement, though it hardly showed. He was about to proclaim his love for Guinevere. He was about to make that monumental change that he should have made years ago. While that thought hardly did anything to boost his confidence, Arthur knew that nothing was going to deter him from doing what felt like the right thing. He wished his friends were with him and it was almost as if the Universe took heed of his wishes because his mobile buzzed inside the pocket of his coat.

Arthur retrieved his mobile and found a text from Merlin.

_Moving in with Gwaine. Can't stand ur snoring._

Arthur groaned inwardly. He knew why this was happening. Merlin is mad at him. And it had nothing to do with snoring. It had everything to do with Guinevere. Gwaine must have gotten to him. Arthur tried calling both of them, but kept being diverted to their respective voice mails. They were giving him the cold shoulder; blaming him openly now for letting Guinevere go.

Arthur wanted to set things straight with his friends, but then realized that he has got nothing to tell them. He has not seen Guinevere yet, has not yet told her that she is the love of his life. There simply was nothing to report just yet.

All Arthur was doing was waiting. Waiting for Guinevere to show up. After Merlin's text, Arthur realized that there were more than his own feelings at stake. It was no longer the simple task of getting the girl. It has now become a mission to set things right in his life.

Arthur turned the page of his newspaper. He continued to wait, his thoughts racing a million miles per hour. All that he knew was that in the midst of his swirling emotions, the only clear thing he saw was a pair of brown eyes flecked in gold, patterns forever etched in his mind. The thoughts were overwhelming, in a good way.

Arthur knew he could survive this. He ignored the dark thought that kept reminding him that he did not do what he should have done when it mattered. He also ignored the voice in his head, his own voice, which kept reminding him of the obvious.

That he might just be a little too late.

Or worse, she might have accepted Gwaine's marriage proposal.

Arthur persevered. It was no longer about him anymore. It involved his friends as well.

And he did not want to return home to an empty flat.

=X=X=X=

Despite herself, Guinevere kept a look out for Arthur. She expected the crowd to suddenly part and reveal Arthur. She expected him to come from her side and take her into his embrace. She expected so much of him that she knew it was it will always remain wishful thinking on her part.

She got her luggage and had her tickets sorted out; her friends, as usual, had upgraded her seat. And then, she went to the departure lounge to wait. She had her mobile in her hand and had Arthur's number ready, but she did not hit the '_Call'_ button. Instead she endured the self – flagellation; an infinitely better choice than calling Arthur and subsequently embarrassing herself. Arthur probably had a million things to do. He could always make up for missing today's send-off with another departure some other time. Or with a nice impersonal gift on her birthday or on Christmas. He really did not have to be there to say goodbye to Guinevere if he did not want to.

She did not give up on Arthur even when her flight was announced. She kept turning back, looking at the throng of people standing at the departure gates, saying their farewells to their loved ones. Involuntary tears sprung in her eyes when she realized she was surrounded by so much love and she was the only one missing out on it. Realizing that she was holding the line longer than necessary, she quickly made her way through the gates and into the plane.

As she approached her seat, Guinevere's heart almost gave out when she caught a glimpse of blond hair near where she was supposed to sit. She approached her seat cautiously, hoping, hoping…

It was someone else. A young college student. She sighed, not really sure if she was relieved or disappointed. She excused herself past the young boy and took her seat. She was saved from the efforts of socializing when the boy smiled at her and then plugged the headphones of his iPod into his ears. Guinevere took up her usual preoccupation of staring out of the window.

Half an hour later, the flight was taxiing down the runway, preparing for take – off. As the plane soared into the sky, Guinevere felt her heart plummeting down to Earth.

Arthur did not show up. He had told his friends he would, but he did not.

Guinevere had expected a clean break to hurt a little. What she had not expected was the numbness that proceeded it. She could not feel anything; not sadness, not anger, not hurt. All she felt was emptiness. It was almost as if only Guinevere's body was in the plane to Rome. Her heart, her soul, her thoughts were all in London, seeking for the person she loved.

=X=X=X=


	5. Chapter 5

Guinevere's flight was announced as Arthur ordered a fresh cup of coffee. When he heard the announcement, he momentarily froze; it was the moment of truth. He accepted the coffee, handed over the counter by a smiling barista, paid for it and went back to the table he was seated at. He put the coffee cup down, amazed at how calm he was and took a deep breath, closing his eyes. Then, he gathered his coat. Once again, he wished his friends were here, they would have cheered him on, or threatened him not to screw up. But as it, he had to do this by himself. This was his battle to fight.

Bad analogy, he chided himself, making his way out of the VIP lounge. If anything, Guinevere is not supposed to the prize at the end of the battle. She was a gift. He smiled when he thought that; it was an appropriate, if not cringe-worthy, description of Guinevere. He had plenty more of those; some too awfully cute to be good, some genuinely impressive and all of them the truth.

All he needed was one.

To tell her that he loved her.

Arthur chose a spot and waited for Guinevere. He swallowed and scanned the crowd. And when he finally saw the familiar mass of dark curls, Arthur felt as if he was finally breathing after holding his breath for so long. For a moment, he could not move. He saw the approval of his friends in his mind's eye, and then took the most important step in his life.

=X=X=X=


	6. Chapter 6

Guinevere was one of the first to get off her seat. She was already here she did not want to delay the inevitable. She might as well get it over with and wallow in the privacy of her flat. She smiled at the young German boy again, frowning at his blond hair because it really was not the golden blond that was Arthur's; the boy's was more flaxen.

The mind sees what it wants to see, she reckoned, shouldering her tote and carry-all. She was brisk in her movements, she was used to the airport procedures and just wanted to get out with minimal fuss. There was a lump in her throat, the thought of her friends, but she pushed all emotions to the back of her mind, lest she starts blubbing near the luggage carousel. A small spark of an emotion, closely resembling anger, spurred her on, telling her to just get on with it. She needed that spark; it made her more efficient. It made her feel…

It made her feel nothing and Guinevere welcomed it.

She got her passport stamped and was welcomed back to Rome with the usual flirty warmth she was used from the officers at the immigrations counter. She smiled mechanically, turning around, stuffing her passport into her tote. As she took a couple of steps forward, the elderly man walking in front of her stepped aside and she froze in her steps as a familiar Windsor knot of a silver tie came to her view.

Her thoughts, consumed by London and the rain and her friends, went blank. She could not tear her eyes away from the silver tie; she knew the piece of clothing very well; Hugo, silk and her gift to Arthur last Christmas.

Silver tie. Arthur.

These three words were the only coherent thought in her mind. It was Arthur's silver tie. But was the tie doing in Rome? Shouldn't it be with Arthur? Shouldn't it be in London? Is this a nervous breakdown?

"Guinevere?"

She could hear her name being spoken, somewhere far away and in Arthur's voice.

"Guinevere, breathe," the voice commanded her, only for Guinevere to realize that she had been holding her breath. She inhaled and the action seemed to have wakened some of her senses because she was finally able to move. She raised her eyes and soon found her gaze locked onto her favourite shade of cerulean.

"Arthur?" she could barely speak his name; the lump in her throat dissolving into tears she could honestly do without at that moment.

"I'm here, Guinevere." Arthur punctuated his statement by taking hold of her elbow. He led her away from the line coming off the immigrations counter and towards a glass wall with the charming view of a darkened runway. When they were out of everyone's way, his hand stayed where it was, holding her as if to assure her he was real and he was with her.

"Why?" she asked, looking at him, aware that a tear had betrayed her and was running down her face.

"To take you home," Arthur answered, one hand reaching to touch the side of her face. He wiped the offending tear away using his thumb. "To tell you that I love you. And to tell you that I need your help looking after a little tortoise."

The cold leaden grip that had engulfed Guinevere since she left London three years ago, lifted at that moment and Guinevere could really see the man in front of her. She could feel the pressure of his hand on hers, the warmth of his touch on her face. She could see the apprehension in his eyes and know that it was not easy for him to do this. Coming to Rome had been the easy part. Declaring that he loved her when he was unsure of how she felt, Guinevere knew exactly the battle that would have raged in his mind. She herself had lost many of those. But at that moment, none of it mattered. Not the location, nor the time. All that Guinevere knew was that Arthur was here for her.

But all she could say was, "Tortoise?"

Arthur bit his lower lips, hesitating before he answered her. "A little one. Nice little chap; green with yellow markings. I bought it, a him, I think, as leverage because girls like cute animals. And you cannot possibly leave an innocent animal..." Arthur was talking too fast, looking every bit as nervous as he sounded.

"I love you too," Guinevere said, taking hold of Arthur's face into her hands. "I love you." She was crying, but it was just residual emotions from the shock of seeing Arthur in Rome.

Arthur looked at Guinevere, his blue eyes twinkling, before he bent down and kissed her, claiming his first kiss as gently as he could. It was the perfect first kiss, soft and gentle, surpassing all her dreams and daydreams.

"You could have done this in London," Guinevere told him, as they broke apart. By then, Arthur had pulled Guinevere to him, holding her to him.

"I can never stop you from going to Rome, Guinevere," Arthur replied, pushing back a strand of her curls to the back of her ear. "But I can certainly take you back home. I should not have let you leave three years ago. This was something I had to do."

"Why now?" Guinevere asked. She had to know. She had to know what had changed that Arthur felt compelled to do this. She had to know that Arthur did this because he wanted to, not to fulfil a promise to his dying stepsister.

Arthur's smile was wan. "Because I was afraid you will never come back once you left. Because I was afraid none of us meant..."

Guinevere could not hear any more of what Arthur had to say. She placed an index finger on his lips, forbidding him from speaking, from continuing with that line of thought. "I only left because I did not want to burden any of you."

"You have never been a burden to any of us," Arthur said, his voice firm. "You are our friend. Our rock. The love of my life."

"I..." Guinevere began, but then decided to just kiss Arthur because she had no words to describe how she felt.

"So, I have to ask this," Arthur smiling, smiling after the unexpected kiss from Guinevere. Guinevere froze; wondering is the question was going to lead to...

"Will you return home to London with me?"

Guinevere almost laughed when she heard Arthur's question. "Of course," she answered. "I decided that the moment I heard 'little tortoise'."

"That's good," he said, looking relieved. "I appreciate it more than the tortoise." Arthur took Guinevere's hand and led her towards the departure gate. Guinevere wanted to point out that the earliest flight to London was on the next morning, but then she caught glimpse of the Learjet with the Pendragon Industries logo on its tail. It was taxiing out of one of the ramps. This explained how Arthur managed to get to Rome earlier than her.

"How about my..."

"Job and flat?" Arthur asked. "I will send them an official notice through Pendragon Industries stating that you have been hired to lead a team of designers to refurbish a fifteenth century manor house. As for your flat, if you will pass me your landlord's phone number, I will arrange to have your things sent to London the earliest possible. I will recompense him for his help."

"You have everything figured out," Guinevere said, more of a question than an observation.

"I dreamt of doing this every day for the past three years, Guinevere," Arthur told her, squeezing her hand. "Can't blame a man for being over-prepared."

"And in that case, I have some stipulations derived from years of daydreams as well," Guinevere said.

"Fire away."

"I will stay at Gwaine's place..." Guinevere could not continue because Arthur was livid. He stopped walking and looked at her, wondering which one of them had gone mad.

"Gwaine? What? With him being the paragon of virtue and all?" Arthur could hardly believe what he had just heard.

Guinevere laughed. "Gwaine is a perfect gentleman," she said. Arthur responded with an impressive eye roll. "I will live with Gwaine, because there is a little matter of our courtship."

Arthur frowned, causing Guinevere to further clarify. "You are just taking me back to London. You still need to woo..."

"And you will be wooed like no other in the history of wooing. I shall woo you most persistently," Arthur said, the frown replaced with a smile.

"And I look forward to being wooed," Guinevere replied, kissing Arthur briefly. They were both at the Immigrations counter and Arthur handed their passports to the officer on duty there. He stamped Arthur's passport before picking up Guinevere's. The officer frowned when he saw her passport.

"Any problems, Signor?" the officer asked, looking at Arthur, his English bearing the slightest trace of Italian.

"Deportation," Arthur told the officer, who looked at Guinevere in surprise. "For the crime of stealing my heart."

The officer finally smiled. He stamped both her passports with a flourish. "That's a very serious crime, Signora. Hope you can return it back."

"He has mine," Guinevere told the officer. "It's a mutual crime." She thanked him, as did Arthur, and they continued to the awaiting aircraft. "Arthur, you should be arrested."

Arthur looked at Guinevere, nodding. "I understand. That was a bit clichéd."

"A bit?" Guinevere held back her laughter. "I am surprised you weren't arrested on the spot."

"A prisoner of your love, Guinevere," Arthur remarked, causing Guinevere to laugh. "I do not mind a lifelong sentence."

"Where do you come up with these lines?" Guinevere asked, wiping her eyes.

"Guinevere, I have accumulated fifteen years' worth of lines like that," Arthur told her. "I hope you are prepared for it."

Guinevere laughed again, shaking her head. She had always thought that the day she and Arthur got together, preceded of course with a huge IF (as all daydreams are), it would be just slightly awkward, lots of shyness and looking away from each other. Never had she imagined she would be holding hands and laughing with him.

Never had she imagined their hands would be a perfect fit.

And never had she ever imagined Arthur would come for her in Rome.

More than ever now, she absolutely loved Rome.

"One more thing, Guinevere," Arthur said, just as they were waiting for their clearance to board Arthur's private jet. "What you thought I was going to ask when I asked you to return to London?"

Guinevere could feel the warmth of a blush creeping up her neck. Arthur, surprisingly, knew her too well. "Yes?" Guinevere was cautious with her reply. She could not possibly come and say that she expected a marriage proposal, though the circumstances seem to warrant it. She felt like an idiot. But only momentarily. Because Arthur's reply set everything in its perfect natural order again.

"I will marry you, in the nearest future. But my marriage proposal is not going to be in an Italian airport. English countryside, most likely. I am patriotic that way."

"Okay," was all Guinevere could manage to say in reply. She looked at Arthur, who looked serious enough, but the twinkle in his eyes gave him away. He pulled her to him and then kissed her with all the passionate abandon of a man who in love.

Needless to say, it was the happiest Guinevere could ever remember feeling in her life. Though home was another three thousand miles away, standing in the Italian airport, with Arthur holding her, she realized that she was already where she belonged; together with Arthur.

=X=X=X=


	7. Chapter 7

The next couple of chapters are basically to tie up some loose ends. It might feel as if the story could end there, I am not even halfway done with the gang yet =)

Thank you for every favourite and alerts. I could not reply to some of the reviews, so, I am taking this to thank each and everyone of you for making the Muses very happy. And for making my day.

**BagginsPotterPevensie (coolest ID), July, strawberry shortcake, whonewbie, Little Miss Demeanor, ellabellamj, , Anaisnine, rach-florance, Angelmygirl, Cassie, Maxx21, Rivendellover, Jess, Regenboge and of course, Peach. I wish I could give you all a hug, or at the very least, a cookie each. **

* * *

><p>Merlin painted all through the night, his canvas filled with angry slashes of red and vermillion and black. There was no pattern, not even an abstract one that could be culled from his latest painting. All that he knew was that he was angry and he was taking it out on the only way he knew. By the time he was on his third canvas, it was dawn, and the colours became softer, the brush strokes calmer; blue and green with hints of melancholic grey. This was his therapy and as usual, it worked.<p>

His choice of colour may have changed, but his anger towards Arthur remained. Of course, he was angry with Guinevere too, but she left because her career justified it. Whereas Arthur let her go because it was easier for him to say goodbye than say he loved Guinevere. Three years was a long time to keep one's hope but Merlin had never given up on Arthur and Guinevere. Not even when Arthur introduced them to his girlfriends that none of them quite liked.

And then Morgana got sick and everything else seemed petty compared to what they were facing at the moment, so Arthur and Guinevere took a backseat momentarily. Merlin was not sure if Morgana had talked to Arthur about Guinevere. He hoped she had; Merlin was not prepared to loose Guinevere. Whenever she was in Rome, Merlin knew the bond between them would pull Guinevere back to them, one day, eventually for good. But with Morgana gone, the bond had somewhat become a little fragile. There would be less of a pull for Guinevere to return to London. Friendship should be effortless; if even any one of them felt as if they had to try to make things work, then the friendship becomes worthless. At least, that is what Merlin thinks.

He finished his painting just as the sun peeked above the horizon. He felt tired all of a sudden, as he usually does after he exerts himself to his craft. He soaked his paintbrushes in its solvents and tidied up a little, giving up after moving a few tubes of water colour from one end of the table to another. He was distracted by the lack of sleep that was catching up on his body, his emotions and by his artist's mind cataloguing the shade and nuance of every object he sees. He left his studio, the small powder room in Gwaine's house that was converted into a studio as a Christmas present by its owner to Merlin on the year he moved into the place. The room was at the front of the house and the first thing Merlin saw when he entered the living room on his way up to his room was Arthur stretched out sleeping on the sofa.

Merlin frowned. He had not heard Arthur coming in during the night, but then again, that was not unusual because when Merlin paints, he usually tunes out the rest of the world. He also did not like Arthur's presence in Gwaine's home. Arthur must have come straight to Gwaine's place after work. He was sleeping as if he had not care in the world, stretched out languidly on the sofa, with a cushion at the back of his head and one more clutched to his bare chest. The sight of Arthur strengthened Merlin's resolve; he will go to the flat and move his things out. The man cannot be trusted with his own feelings and Merlin had finally run out of patience. Arthur can go and date as many girls as he wants...and marry any of the bland, surgically-altered socialites. He had stopped caring as of seven o'clock last evening when Guinevere's flight took off.

Merlin turned away before the urge to smack Arthur grew. It irritated Merlin to see Arthur sleeping with his mouth just slightly open. Merlin turned away from the man who was his former best friend, making up his mind to never forgive Arthur for as long as he lives and beyond. He was about to go to the spare bedroom he had staked out earlier when Arthur's voice stopped him.

"Merlin? Where are you going?"

Merlin, who was determined not to talk to his former best friend, could not help snapping back, "Rome. Idiot."

"About that…"

"Shut up." Merlin was already up the stairs, on his way to his room. He could not care less what Arthur wanted to say; all Arthur has is excuses and Merlin is sick of excuses. Whatever Arthur has to say, he could say it Gwaine or Lance. Maybe they will be sympathetic. He hoped they would not and it would serve Arthur right if they punched him.

Merlin opened the door to his new room and stopped dead on his tracks. Standing in the middle of the room, looking at Merlin, with a smile as bright as only Guinevere could, a stack of clothes in her hands that she had been unpacking into the closet in the room.

"Tell me I am not dreaming," Merlin said, his voice breathless.

"I am as real as the tortoise there," Guinevere replied, glancing at a small aquarium at top of the chest of drawers near the door.

"He stopped you…" Merlin managed his voice thick with emotions. He was still standing at the door, one hand on the doorknob.

"Actually, he came to Rome," Guinevere told him. She did not make any sudden moves, probably want him to decide for himself if she was real or a hallucination caused by too much water – colour fumes.

"Excuse me for just one minute," Merlin said, leaving the room, closing the door behind him. He took a deep breath and clattered down the stairs, back into the living room, where Arthur had gotten up and was buttoning his shirt with a triumphant, almost smug, smile.

"Idiot," Merlin told him before hugging him quite suddenly. "Stupid bloody prat of an idiot."

Arthur was in the danger of being choked out of breath by Merlin's ferocious hug. "You're welcome," he gasped out.

Merlin did not wait a moment longer; he rushed back up the stairs, hollering for Gwaine. Gwaine, awakened from his sleep, came stumbling out of his room, halfway between sleep and wake but mostly confused.

Merlin did not answer. Instead, he threw open the door to the spare bedroom, revealing a rather startled Guinevere.

Gwaine's mouth fell open. "The Princess did it. The Princess actually did it."

"You're welcome, mate," Arthur hollered from downstairs. "I'll get the coffee started."

The three person hug was awkward, with the differences in height and Merlin being all elbows and all, but somehow it worked. There was simultaneous crying, laughing and talking. It felt almost as if the events of the last three years had not occurred. It was amazing how fast wounds healed and bad memories wiped clean, all thanks to the sustaining powers of their friendship.

The friendship was intact. And now, Merlin believed, their bond was stronger than ever before.

=X=X=X=

It was a hyper speed rush from sleep to wakefulness that rendered Lance at a loss momentarily. He blinked once or twice as an effort to coax his senses to reawaken. Moments later, he became aware of where he was and his surroundings; he was on his back, in his bed, looking up at the painted-on fluorescent stars on the ceiling of his bedroom. He became aware of the rain outside, both by the roaring sound and by the chill brought on by it. He was not aware of the time; having the drapes in his rooms drawn was a disadvantage as to determine if it was light or dark. Lately, Lance had not given much care for the time of the day; every day since he buried his wife was a cycle of numbness and pain. He had given up wondering why a heartbeat of a memory would bring forth misery that lasted for hours, days even. He coped by choosing to stay in his home, remembering Morgana. It was hardly the kind of mourning his wife would have approved, but Lance had decided long ago that since Morgana left him, she no longer had a say in the matter.

But that day, the moment he opened his eyes, he felt something different, something he had not felt for a long time. Ever since Morgana got sick, he could only remember waking up with the tight grip of grief that renders smiling, laughing and the very thought of happiness obsolete. That morning, however, Lance felt none of the grief that usually physically manifested itself as an invisible burden bearing down on his being. As his full consciousness returned, he remembered his dreams. Instead of the usual suffocating darkness he had been dealt with since Morgana's funeral, his dream had been bright. It was a replay of his memories the music festival at Glastonbury last year. They were at a Snow Patrol gig and all throughout the session, Morgana had sung along to every song the band performed. She sang '_Signal Fire_' to Lance, embracing him tightly, her voice but a mere whisper in his ear. It had been one of the many perfect moments in their lives; never mind the rain or his ruined shoes. The dream ended with Morgana smiling up at him and Lance had awoken with remnants of his smile.

The image of Morgana's smiling face had offered a wonderful solace against the usual stark reality of waking up alone in a large bed that seemed even larger now. It was as if Morgana was assuring him everything was going to be all right, at least for the day.

Fully awake, Lance realized that he needed to get out of bed. He rolled over and reached for his watch on the side table next to bed, wondering if it was midday or evening. He was mildly pleased to see that it just past nine in the morning. He had almost ceased keeping track of time; it was not of any consequence when he spends his days drifting from one room to another in his flat and going to bed whenever staying awake became a chore. But that morning, having woken up at peace, Lance decided it was a sign from the universe that the time for healing has finally begun.

He got out of bed, fully alert. His boxers and t-shirt hardly offered any warmth, so he grabbed the jumper that lay on the foot of his bed and pulled it on. A stop in the bathroom and he made his way to the kitchen, past the tidy living room. The whole flat was neat; Arthur had made sure the domestic service came in for their twice weekly clean up. In the equally spotless kitchen, Lance started the coffee machine and he felt that maybe he could fix himself a full meal to eat.

With the coffee brewing, Lance went about the flat, drawing the drapes open. He did not bother with the windows, it was pelting outside, but it certainly did brighten up the place considerably. When the coffee was done, he poured it into a hideous mug painted with daisies in a horrifying shade of pink. The mug was Morgana's, who under Merlin's tutelage, made and painted six mugs and gave it to each one of them two years back. Lance and Arthur claimed a miracle occurred as both mugs broke at the same time the day it was given to them. Guinevere claimed she lost the mug and her entire luggage en route to Rome. Gwaine gave his to a kindergarten teacher he was wooing at the time, who agreed to go on a date with him, claiming she found it endearing that children in her class had better artistic skills than the person who made the mug. Merlin used the mug to keep his 'special' paint brushes, whatever that means. Only Morgana used hers to drink from, probably in defiance of all them for treating her work of art so contemptuously.

Lance smiled as he remembered the memory. As he did, he thanked God that he was able to think of Morgana and not break down. A small step today.

He took his coffee and went to his office room, a bit of space elevated from the rest of the living room that he converted into an office before moving in. He was a journalist, a writer with a travel magazine and his job hardly entails him to be present at the magazine office every day; an arrangement that had suited both him and Morgana tremendously well. His working space was a mess of papers, travel brochures, photographs and other debris associated with travel and his job hazards as a journalist, but Lance would not have any of it tidied because he was afraid it might disrupt his working '_chi'_. There was disruption however, from the corner of his office. Merlin's art supplies were slowly encroaching out of the space Lance had lined out for him using yellow tape. Merlin had a functioning studio in his own flat, as well as in Gwaine's town house, should he be inspired at any times he should be in any of the mentioned locations. Having some space for Merlin's art supply in their homes was as natural as all of them having a spare change of clothes at any of their homes. It was something that did not need an explaining. It was a small detail of their friendship.

Lance put down his coffee mug on an empty spot on his desk and did a quick check of his e-mail inbox; nothing urgent, just plenty more of encouraging messages from well – wishers. His heart lurched when his eyes fell on an e-mail heading from Morgana. She constantly sent him reminders whenever he was away from home without her; naughty bits of poetry and prose and sometimes even visual aids (as she termed them) to help him cope, but mostly to make him rush back to her. Lance quickly turned his gaze away from the computer screen, shutting it down. He then looked at his phone and saw five missed calls.

Lance winced as he picked up his phone, knowing instinctively that his friends had called. Upon checking, he saw three calls were from Merlin and one each from Gwaine and Arthur. He was sure that it could not have been an emergency, because they had not rung his landline. They were probably checking up on him and Lance felt that he owed them a phone call.

Lance decided to call Arthur. It was just a little after nine and Arthur should just be getting into the office, unless of course he had an early meeting. As he waited for the call to connect, Lance wished that Arthur would be available to talk; he missed them all and did not particularly want to be greeted by an electronic voice.

"Lance?" Arthur picked up at the first ring, his voice a mix of surprise and apprehension.

"I'm fine." Lance forsook traditional greetings just so that his friend would cease worrying. "I am not hurt. I just called to say hello."

"That's good," Arthur remarked, sounding relieved.

"Busy, mate?"

"I took the day off," Arthur replied and Lance detected a certain sheepishness in his voice. Before he could say anything, however, Arthur had handed his phone to someone else.

"Hello?"

"Guinevere!" Lance recognized her voice instantly. And quickly realized the monumental change that had occurred in the last twenty – four hours. "Arthur finally stopped you from going to Rome?"

Guinevere giggled. "Technically, I was in Rome for five minutes before Arthur showed up," she explained.

"Private jet and all?" Lance guessed. "If that isn't showing off…"

"I think he is trying to impress me," Guinevere stage-whispered to Lance.

"It was a gesture," Arthur was heard hollering from the background.

Lance laughed, a genuine laughter since God only knows when. It did not surprise him that he is laughing because of his friends.

"It certainly was a grand gesture," Guinevere admitted and before she could continue, Lance heard a scrambling sound and Arthur apparently got hold of his phone again.

"She is most impressed, she just would not admit it," Arthur said, to the sound of Guinevere's laughter.

Lance smiled when he heard them. Arthur and Guinevere had been a foregone conclusion the day Morgana introduced her to the rest of them fifteen years ago. The rest of them had never really been comfortable seeing Arthur with another girl or Guinevere with another guy, on the rare occasions she does go out on a date. Morgana had vowed to smack Arthur across the head on the day he finally admits his feelings to Guinevere.

"Maybe Guinevere is not that impressed," Lance said, turning his thoughts to the present.

"That is why I got her a tortoise," Arthur remarked, sounding triumphant.

"There is a tortoise?" Lance asked, chuckling. "Mate, normal? Ever heard of that?"

"Mate, we hang out with Merlin," Arthur replied. "What do you mean by normal?"

Lance laughed. "I am so happy for you, Arthur," he told Arthur, his words as genuine as his feelings. "Morgana would have approved." The dull ache that Lance had been indifferent to since waking up throbbed a little sharper, but he was able to ignore it. It was hardly any jealousy, for Lance had lived, loved and enjoyed his life with the woman he loved and wished nothing but the same for his friends as well.

Arthur grew quiet on the other end of the line; not because of grief, but to acknowledge the fact that Lance was right. "Yeah, I hope so."

"How's Gwaine and Merlin?" Lance asked, moving on as quickly as he could.

"One is still as narcissistic as ever and the other has developed an affinity to Guinevere's tortoise in ways I never thought was possible."

Lance chuckled, missing his friends to a degree that it almost hurt. His exile from them had been self – imposed. He was thankful that they had managed to exercise restraint in allowing him the time and space to grief, despite the promise he knew Morgana would have extracted from them.

"Mate, come on over for dinner tonight," Arthur said, his voice quiet and hopeful. "Maybe we can find time to christen the tortoise as well."

As prepared as he was on taking the step in healing and moving on, Arthur's suggestion had, momentarily, felt blasphemous to Lance. A mild panic surged through him, indicating that it is unacceptable for Lance to leave the flat. Until Lance realized that it was not an invitation. Friends do not need invitation to get together, they just do. They could have as easily invited themselves to Lance's flat, but Arthur invited him to Gwaine's place to see if Lance would accept, giving Lance a chance to show his friends how he well he was coping thus far.

"I'll bring the wine," Lance said, accepting.

"Good." Arthur's voice was quiet, but there was a world of relief behind it. "Come down any time after seven. We'll all be at Gwaine's place."

"Will do," Lance promised. He could not help feeling as if this was the first time he was meeting his friends. It has been ten days since he last saw them, or had any sort of contact save for phone calls and texts with them. He knew nothing has changed between them, but he also knew that much has shifted in their friendship.

He rang off citing domestic chores. If Arthur was reluctant to end the conversation, he did not show it. He told Lance that they would all be waiting for him, a little subtle arm-twisting so that Lance would not back off at the last minute. Lance was glad that at least Arthur felt compelled to try. Waking up feeling good was one thing, but Lance knew the world was waiting for him to make an entrance again. He needed some external motivation.

A tortoise's christening was the best kind of motivation he could ask for.

=X=X=X=


	8. Chapter 8

_Twenty days ago..._

_ "How did you do it?" _

_ "Well, between Gwaine and Merlin, the nurses have their attentions occupied for a bit."_

_ "And I suppose Lance knows nothing of this?"_

_ "Guinevere has taken Lance to the cafe. She promised she will try to make him eat. As far as he is concerned, we are still in your room, watching _Midsomer Murders_."_

_ "Twenty minutes?"_

_ "Ten. Then I am taking you back inside."_

_ "I'm fine."_

_ "I know you are. But, for my sake, would you put this jacket on?"_

_ "On top of three you have bundled me with? Fine." _

_ Arthur put the jacket over Morgana's shoulder, seeing that it would not fit through the sleeves. She was already cocooned in three sheepskin jacket and could barely fit into her wheelchair. Nevertheless, she allowed the extra layer. After all, Arthur had broken a handful of hospital rules for her and the least she could is comply with his simple request. Arthur was marginally happier; if he was uncomfortable, he did not show it. He was worried, that much was obvious; for Morgana's wellbeing and also for being caught doing something that clearly would not endear him much to the hospital's medical staff and his own father. _

_ But it was risk Arthur was willing to take. Morgana never asks much from him and in the rare occasions when she does, Arthur has never denied her. Two days ago, she had asked Arthur for chance to see the night sky. He had brought a brand new telescope the next day. Morgana had told him, when they were alone in the ward that it was not what she meant._

_Arthur was startled when he realized what Morgana really wanted. When they were children, they would climb up to the roof, through Morgana's window, and lie there to watch the stars. Morgana, obsessed with the stars and an amateur astronomer back in the day, knew every constellation and would point out each to her stepbrother. Arthur would feign sleep pretending to be bored, although he had been impressed with Morgana's ability to make something out of what seemed like interstellar clutter to him. It was a cherished summer ritual that continued until Morgana banned Arthur from entering her room, an inevitable drawback of growing up. Morgana had never mentioned astronomy to Arthur until that day. It was enough for Arthur to feel obliged to let his little sister see the stars. _

_Arthur agreed, knowing that the plan could only be carried out illegally. He enlisted the help of Merlin and Gwaine and made a concession with Morgana; no roof. Morgana agreed, albeit reluctantly. A secluded spot in the hospital's west courtyard was chosen, it was far from any busy corridors and had no trees obstructing the view. Morgana was in the private ward and was allowed visitors until eleven in the evening, so all they needed to do was give provide Arthur with cover so that he could wheel her out to the courtyard. On any other time, Arthur would have felt a thrill, though he would be hard pressed to admit, of breaking rules. But as he wheeled Morgana out to the courtyard, all he felt was the foreboding thought at the back of his mind. The one that told him this might just be one of the last things Morgana asks of him. _

"_I'm ready," Morgana said, looking up at Arthur, looking very determined. Arthur nodded and lifted Morgana from the wheelchair, trying to ignore the dissolving lump in his throat. He then knelt down and gently placed Morgana on the air mattress Gwaine and Merlin had placed at the chosen spot a little earlier. Morgana sank into the mattress, sighing, as Arthur helped her to lie on her back. Arthur's pants were ruined by the grass, but he did not notice. All he saw was Morgana's eyes lighting up with delight as she looked up at the sky. Tears stung his eyes and Arthur blinked it away. He just needed hang on to his emotions for a bit; Morgana was happy, he was not going to spoil it by crying in front of her. _

"_Come on, Arthur," Morgana said, patting the bit of space next to her. Arthur smiled, not needing a second prompting. He got onto the mattress and lay next to Morgana; both Pendragons with their hands clasped over their stomachs, shoulders touching. They lay for a moment without speaking; Morgana savouring the moment, Arthur hoping that the next ten minutes would stretch for as long as it infinitely could. _

"_It's always the same, isn't it?" Morgana said, her eyes savouring each star, tracing the imaginary patterns. It was a question that needed no answer from Arthur. Silence fell between them again; the only sound was of Morgana's slightly laboured breathing. _

"_And that is how it is supposed to be," Morgana said after a few moments. "We are so vain, thinking that everything changes when we do, but everything always remains the same."_

"_Someone must have slipped a philosophy pill into your medication today," Arthur said, willing his lips to curve into a smile when it was trembling, a precursor to something else entirely. _

_Morgana replied to this by dropping her arms over Arthur's torso. Arthur actually winced; Morgana's arm, bundled into the jacket sleeves, was quite heavy. _

_ "Nothing changes, Arthur," Morgana continued, as Arthur took her hand into his, partly because he did not want her to hit him again, mostly because he wanted to. "All the important things always stay the same. Even after..."_

_ Arthur squeezed her hand in an attempt to stop her from finishing the statement. Of course she would want to talk about this, but Arthur was not ready...he would never be. _

_Morgana must have understood. Maybe it was difficult to talk about it as well. "And that is how it should be. I am no more significant than a huge ball of gas burning billion of miles away from here."_

_ "Except that you are," Arthur replied quietly. _

_ Morgana smiled, turning her head to face Arthur. "You have always spoiled me."_

_ "You call it spoiling," Arthur said, turning to his stepsister, smiling. "It was more like arm-twisting at its highest form. Dear God, the tantrums you would throw if you did not get things your way."_

_ Morgana chuckled, punching Arthur's shoulder. But she did not deny his claims; Morgana grew up a princess in the Pendragon household. Morgause, twelve years older, had been studying in a boarding school and although Uther adopted her as well, she never really wielded as much influence as Morgana, who was three when Uther married her mother. Arthur was six when he was introduced to Morgana and gave his approval when she gave him a marble and a half-dead cricket. They became inseparable and when Morgana's mother passed away three years later, it was Arthur who told Morgana to stop crying, showing her a picture of his mother and telling the little girl that both their mothers were together, looking down at them from the stars. Morgana was the closest Arthur would call family; his own father was a distant man who did not believe in prolonged emotional connection with his children. And Arthur was the only family Morgana knew, until the rest of them came into their lives. _

_ "Even so, I never really got everything I wanted," Morgana remarked, turning back to the stars. _

_ "Morgana..." Arthur began, but Morgana squeezed his hand in hers, indicating that she was not talking of the darker things blighting their lives. _

"_There is always one thing I wish would change."_

_ Arthur was almost afraid to ask Morgana what it was. He did not have any of the answers when it came to Morgana and her illness. He did not want to give her wrong answers, or, God forbid, false ones. Before he could ask her what it was, she spoke, her voice quiet. _

_ "I wish Guinevere had a change of address," she said, almost to herself. "A London address."_

_ Arthur smiled. He took Morgana's hand and kissed it. "So do I."_

_ "It's not just for you," Morgana told him. "But for the rest of us as well. Guinevere needs something solid to hold her here. Unfortunately, you are her choice."_

_ "Could you be any more annoying?" Arthur asked, indignant. "I am a fantastic choice."_

_ "Actually, Guinevere and I had this little talk regarding you guys..."_

_ "I don't want to know."_

_ "And Lance, I am proud to admit, is ranked number one in terms of looks..."_

_ "Not listening."_

_ "You are actually fourth, behind Gwaine and Merlin..."_

_ "Not listening...WHAT? That is absurd! I refuse to accept to accept that!"_

_ The sound of Morgana's laughter filled the empty courtyard. Arthur was pouting, pretending to sulk, while Morgana assured him the list was inconclusive, since Merlin could sprout into gorgeousness at any time; something that Arthur was compelled to point out that he never want to hear again. The siblings argued about the list, forgetting hospitals and wards and illnesses momentarily. It was a slice of old times. Arthur cherished every heartbeat of that moment. And made a silent promise that he will make sure everything remains the same, with the bit of change Morgana wanted. _

=X=X=X=

They christened the tortoise Travis and decided that it should be released into the wild. This was due to Arthur purchasing just one tortoise instead of a pair, so Travis risked loneliness. There was a consensus that Travis has a better chance surviving in the wild rather than in the same environment as Merlin. A stroke of inspiration and Travis would be swimming in cobalt blue, something that none of them wanted. An animal does not need that sort of stress. Gwaine volunteered to release it into the pond at the park near his house; Guinevere and Merlin offered to go with him. Arthur toasted their wine to Travis, who had been instrumental in bringing Guinevere home. After dinner, they took a group photo with Travis. The excitement must have been a little too much for the tortoise because Travis retreated into its shell and was never seen again for the rest of the evening, even after Merlin enticed it with a particularly succulent slice of strawberry.

An hour after dinner, Guinevere excused herself to her room, citing luggage that needed her attention and friends in Rome who needed explanation on her sudden return to London. Gwaine claimed he had a trial to prepare for and was soon deep into studying a thick law book; showing off both his enterprise and ambidexterity as he scribbled notes on a legal pad using both his hands. He wore a pair of black-rimmed spectacles, one that has never been seen outside of his house, or discussed anywhere in public because Gwaine had a reputation to maintain, one that included perfect vision. Merlin was on the sofa with him, sketchbook in one hand and a piece of charcoal on the other. He was supposed to be sketching, but since he had been awake for more than forty hours, he had dozed off with his head on Gwaine's shoulder and the charcoal in his hand making a mess on the brocade sofa covers.

Arthur and Lance took the bottle of wine Lance had brought along to the patio outside the living room; both of them relishing the chance to be outdoors even if it was dark. It finally stopped raining and with the clouds cleared, it was a rather bright evening, even if it was just a little chilly. The patio was illuminated by the lights from the living room and half a moon straining against the inky night sky.

Arthur and Lance talked of the appalling weather, clearing customs in Rome and the Indian sweet Gwaine's housekeeper had served for pudding; normal everyday conversation topics. If both felt as if they were skating around the important things that they should really be talking about, they did not show it. Arthur was just glad Lance came for dinner. He did have his apprehensions; thinking that Lance would call up and tell them he would not be able to make it for dinner. When Lance announced himself at five minutes to seven, Arthur was glad to be wrong.

It had been ten days since the funeral and this was the first time Arthur was seeing Lance outside his flat. Lance had lost considerable weight and there was a haunted look on his face that pained Arthur to see. He did not look at any of the photographs in the house, apprehensive perhaps of seeing one with Morgana in it. Arthur knew all of them tried not let Lance feel as if he was alone in a room full of people; he also knew that there were certain things that none of them individually or collectively, could ever compensate for. Arthur could not even begin to fathom the loneliness that Lance must be feeling and decided that Lance was undoubtedly the strongest of them all. He showed considerable strength when he removed them one by one from Morgana's graveside after the funeral. He showed dignity in mourning and it was because of his strength that each of them had survived leaving Morgana behind in the churchyard.

They sat on iron wrought chairs outside the patio door, the bottle of wine between them on an upturned flowerpot. There was a lull in their conversation, as both contemplated the unkempt garden ahead of them. Arthur poured out more wine for the both of them, trying not to think too much of the bottle of wine Lance had brought along. It was one of the dozen from the case Arthur remembers his father giving to Lance and Morgana on their second anniversary.

"So, how do you feel?"

Arthur was snapped out of his reverie by Lance's query. He turned to his friend, disbelief on his face. He could not help thinking the question was a bit misplaced, that he, Arthur, should be asking the question to Lance, not the other way around. Lance looked at Arthur, waiting for an answer, as he took his wine glass. He clinked his glass to Arthur's before taking a drink.

"Isn't that question supposed to be mine?" Arthur asked, keeping his voice light.

"I asked you first," Lance replied, causing Arthur to smile. Arthur has never won any arguments with Lance before and things look as if it is not going to change anytime soon.

Arthur took a drink of his wine before giving his answer. "Right now, I just want to run upstairs and make sure that Guinevere is really here," he said, looking at the clump of grasses invading the edge of the stone patio. "It feels almost unbelievable."

Lance smiled when he heard Arthur's answer. "Took you long enough," he remarked. "Now that you are happily settled with Guinevere, what have you to say to us for putting up with years of your frustrations?"

"I was never frustrated," Arthur said, frowning, looking at Lance again.

"You were about as charming as a bear with colic," Lance told him. "Walking around sulking and snapping at everything and everyone. You were unbearable, mate. And then you would bring another unbearable girl…"

"Water under the bridge," Arthur remarked, with a wave of his hand, wanting to quickly close the topic. He knew what Lance said was true and he did not particularly want to talk off the Dark Ages…the three years of his life when Guinevere was in Rome.

"Maybe for you," Lance said, the humour in his voice indicating his joy in teasing his friend. "The only reason we didn't kill you was out of sympathy for Guinevere."

"You guys are mad."

"Appreciation duly noted," Lance replied.

Arthur laughed, amazed at not only the comeback, but the fact his grieving friend could still find a way to make him laugh.

"How about you, mate?" Arthur asked, once his laughter died down. "How are you?"

Lance put the glass of wine on the ground next to his chair. "I guess I could say that today is a good day. I don't know how it will be tomorrow. I am just taking this one day at a time. I too just want to run inside and see if I could find Morgana inside. It is like a waking dream."

Arthur put his glass down and leaned over towards Lance. "We are here, mate."

"Yeah," Lance voice was hoarse, as if he was holding back his emotions. "I know."

"And Morgana's with you as well," Arthur said, his voice quiet and gentle. It may not be the best thing to say to Lance, but it was the truth. Arthur believed it so. "She's always with us, mate."

Lance acknowledged Arthur's statement with a smile, a rather sad one, but a smile nonetheless. He looked up at the sky above him. Arthur followed his gaze. With the rainclouds gone, the night sky was splashed with clusters of stars; each just a ball of gas, spinning millions and millions of miles away, but to Arthur, its presence seemed reassuring. He blinked as his vision blurred. An image of him, Morgana and Guinevere laughing together flashed through his mind. They looked happy.

"I know," Lance replied. "But she's not going to be amused if she knows we are comparing her to a ball of gas."

Arthur laughed, turning to Lance. And saw, like him, Lance too had tears in his eyes. It was a long way before any of them could be fully healed, but the important thing was that they had each other.

And in that sense, nothing has really changed in their lives. Just as Morgana said it wouldn't.

=X=X=X=


	9. Chapter 9

An update that took too long to happen. I apologize, but real life kept insisting. Two short mini-chapters, making into one long one.

Reviews make my day. Let me know how this went.

* * *

><p>October rolled into November, bringing with it the chill not expected until deep into winter. Yet, the brave sun fought on, straining each day against a grey sky, bringing forth a brilliance that made the weather tolerable. Where everything should have been grey and gloomy, it was silver and bright. It was as if Nature herself was giving the gang a hand to overcome their sorrow.<p>

On the second Saturday of November, Merlin found himself awake before his alarm went off. Checking the clock, he saw that it was barely half past six. Arthur was already up and could be heard talking with Guinevere, who had spent the night in their flat, in the kitchen. Merlin remembered Guinevere mentioning something about working that day and Arthur was continuing with his disagreement over his girlfriend working on a Saturday. Guinevere was probably ignoring him; she had done pretty much the same when Arthur protested that the position she found as a junior designer with an up and coming architectural firm in the City was beneath her experience and qualification. Guinevere had accepted the job anyway, after making sure it was in no way affiliated to Pendragon Industries, Arthur, Merlin, Lance or Gwaine. She threatened Arthur with dateless nights should his protests become too much to bear. Merlin and Gwaine were already certain that those dateless nights are not too far in the future.

By the time Merlin had showered and dressed, Arthur and Guinevere had left the flat. Arthur had tacked a note for Merlin on his bedroom door, claiming he was taking Guinevere for breakfast before dropping her off to work and then hitting the gym. Merlin was glad Arthur had not sought him out; Arthur was a demon in the gymnasium and would have put Merlin through a punishing regime on the treadmill just for the fun of it if he ever got the chance. Merlin, who believed that weekends, and the whole week, if possible, should be for leisure and artistic pursuits, had already made other plans with Gwaine. He had managed to wrangle a promise out of Gwaine to drive out to Bath for an arts exhibition. Gwaine had agreed, on the basis there might be nude models at the exhibition. Merlin conveniently left out the part about the exhibition being a showcase for artwork created by elephants and chimpanzees from an animal sanctuary in Kenya and was held to collect funds for its operating costs. He had promised Lance and Arthur to take pictures when Gwaine realizes this.

Gwaine was supposed to pick him at nine o'clock, but since he was ready, and not to mention hungry, Merlin decided to walk to Gwaine's house, two streets away from the flat, and wake him up and pester him for breakfast. He left his flat and was heartened to see so many people already out and about so early on a Saturday morning and not looking miserable about it. It was just after seven and Gwaine, who was more of an mid-morning-to-afternoon person on weekends, would not be too happy with Merlin encroaching on his sleep. It was a risk Merlin was willing to take, for the sake of breakfast.

Merlin turned into the street where Gwaine's house was located; a crescent of half a dozen Georgian townhouses spaced evenly apart and facing a small public park with beech and oak older than the houses on the street. Gwaine's house was the fifth one at the end of the street. Gwaine's black Ferrari, gleaming under the morning sun and looking perfectly incongruent with the English setting of the street, was parked outside his house, ready for its journey to Bath. Merlin smiled, amazed that Gwaine was already up, and quickened his steps towards his friend's house.

With his eyes and attention on Gwaine's house, Merlin did not see the person exiting the house he was passing at that moment and collided into the person. A sharp hiss of breath, a toss of golden hair, a startling flash of blue and Merlin found himself looking at the irritated expression of Morgause.

"Morgause?" Merlin said, a hand reaching to steady her. She was carrying a medium-sized cardboard box, which she luckily did not drop in the aftermath of Merlin colliding with her.

It was not as if Morgause did not know Merlin, but she was apparently distracted with whatever she was doing. It took a heartbeat before she saw that it was Merlin that had bumped into her.

"Merlin?" she said, frowning.

"I'm sorry. I didn't see you," Merlin apologized.

Once again, Morgause looked a bit distracted. "What?" she asked again. And then, realization dawned on her and slowly, the frown dissipated. "Oh. That's fine. I'm sorry too. I should have been on the watch for early pedestrian traffic."

It was unbelievable, but Merlin found himself chuckling at something Morgause had said. Despite being Morgana's elder sister, Morgause was mostly a stranger to the rest of them. She was twelve years older than Morgana and when their mother was married to Uther, Morgause was in a boarding in Scotland. Later, she went off to university and Tintagel was nothing more than a pit stop for her during Christmas holidays. Although Uther adopted Morgause as well as Morgana, Morgause was never really close to him. She married Cenred shortly after university and sort of disappeared from their lives. She lived in a different part of London, worked at an international advertising company and moved in different social circles than the rest of them. Morgana, of course, loved Morgause, the only person whom she was related to by blood. Morgana was Morgause's daughter, Nina's, godmother. It was to Morgause that Morgana first broke the news of her relapse. And it was Morgause who helped to prepare Morgana's remains for the wake.

Merlin quickly dispelled the thought; his memories of Morgause maybe limited but it certainly did not mean he has remember THAT particular memory.

"What are you doing here?" Merlin asked her.

"I just moved here," Morgause replied, smiling.

"Oh." Merlin found himself pleasantly surprised. "Did you know that Gwaine lives here as well? The third house on your left."

"I know," Morgause said, glancing in the general direction of Gwaine's house. "I was here for his house-warming party, remember?"

Merlin remembered. Not all the details, of course, because he had been very much in awe of the truly splendid artwork Gwaine had inherited along with the house and had spent the first few times he was in the place in a sort of a daze. "So, when did this happen?" Merlin asked her, indicating the house Morgause was about to enter.

"A month ago," Morgause replied. "And now, I am here. I moved in yesterday. I am just taking in some bits and pieces I brought in my car." She indicated the silver BMW parked by the side of the road.

Merlin acknowledged this with a nod. Then, stealing a glance towards the open door of her house, he asked, "Is Nina inside? It's been ages since I saw her."

Morgause looked a little apprehensive. The slight frown appeared once again, clouding her features. Merlin did not notice this, as he went on asking his next question. "And Cenred? How is he?"

Morgause cleared her throat. "Nina is with Cenred…" And just by the way she said it; Merlin knew that the next thing she was going to say is not going to be a particularly pleasant bit of news. "Cenred and I are divorced. It was finalized last Thursday."

"I am so sorry." Merlin genuinely meant what he said. He was surprised as well; Morgause and Cenred have been married for eleven years at least; Merlin was fourteen when he wore his first tuxedo and it was to Morgause's wedding, with his mother as his date. He was not an expert on marriage, more so now, but he had always seen Cenred and Morgause happy. He had attributed their distant demeanour to each other during Morgana's funeral to grief, but apparently, it was something more than that as well. Merlin, who had always believed in minding his own business, decided not to speculate as to what brought down their marriage.

Morgause merely shrugged. "That's all right," she remarked, a frown tugging down her smile.

Merlin was at loss as to what to say. He wondered what people said at these times. "I didn't…Are you all right?"

Morgause smiled. "I am fine, Merlin," she replied. "Moving into the a new house is exactly the kind of distraction I need."

"Is there anything I…we can do to help?" Merlin said, trying not to look very anxious. Merlin is a firm believer of the collective initiative; whereby any problems one has can be resolved by sharing it with people who care.

"I'm fine, Merlin. Thank you for asking," Morgause remarked, reaching out and touching his arm. "But, if you really want to help, I have a box in my car that might just need the combined strength of two not very strong people to haul inside."

Merlin felt rather relieved when the conversation lead to safer territories. "Lead the way," he told her, with a flourish that brought a chuckle from Morgause. Having only known a rather haughty Morgause, Merlin was surprised at how easy it was to talk with her. Maybe it was the height difference, Merlin thought, as Morgause opened the back door of her BMW to reveal a large box, which was surprisingly light despite its imposing size. The taller he got, the better he could see people and their reactions.

Or maybe Merlin was now old enough to initiate a proper conversation with adults.

Or perhaps, they had all been too awed with the smart and sophisticated Morgause none of them ever thought she could be worth the trouble talking to.

They carried the box inside the house. Morgause insisted on leaving it at the hallway near the front door. "It is mostly things for the sitting room," Morgause told him. Awkward silence loomed between them in the narrow hallway before Morgause spoke again. "Can I offer you coffee, Merlin? In a paper cup, of course. And a croissant?"

Before Merlin could answer, his mobile buzzed from inside his jacket. He excused himself, retrieving the phone and stepping back outside the house. It was, surprisingly, Gwaine.

"Hello?" Merlin said, tentatively, not knowing why Gwaine was ringing him when he should still be asleep.

"Who the hell are you and what have you done with my friend Merlin?" Gwaine's voice held all the cheer of a someone who had a large stone in his shoes.

"I could ask you the same thing," Merlin remarked, turning to look at Gwaine's house, hoping to catch a glimpse of his friend.

"You never answer your mobile."

"And you are never awake at half past seven on a Saturday morning," Merlin countered back, relishing the early morning verbal exchanges.

"No one should be awake earlier than ten on a Saturday. Except freaks like Arthur Pendragon," Gwaine replied. "Anyway, as it is, I'm up. Thought I'd make you buy breakfast before our drive to Bath."

"Oh."

"I was in my room when I saw you walking down the street and the next thing I knew you had disappeared. Now, if you have been kidnapped, please tell your assailants to do themselves a favour and hand you in. You know what a handful you can be, Merlin."

Merlin was not amused. If he could see Gwaine, he thought of making some rude hand signals to him. "Stick to your day job, Gwaine. The comedy routine is not taking you anywhere."

"And here everyone thinks you're a sweet guy," Gwaine mused, sounding very thoughtful. "That is too much for a pre-breakfast insult, Merlin."

Merlin was immediately remorseful. "I'll make it up to you with a danish," he promised.

"Make that two." Gwaine was, after all, a barrister.

"Fine," Merlin replied with a smile. "You won't believe who just moved into your street?"

"Please, let it be Ringo Starr," Gwaine said, sounding very hopeful. "Or Sir Richard Branson. I need to be in his in-circle, Merlin, to score discounts for the space flight."

Merlin shook his head. "It's Morgause."

There was a moment of silent before Gwaine spoke again. "What? Merlin, are you…"

"I'll tell you all about it in a bit," Merlin said. "See you soon, Gwaine."

"Merlin? Wait!" Merlin could hear Gwaine yelling for him, but he rang off and switched off his mobile, knowing that Gwaine can be relentless at times. He turned to Morgause, who was standing at the doorway, looking at him.

"I'm sorry about that," Merlin said, walking up to her. "It was Gwaine." Morgause nodded. "Why don't you come on over with me and go meet Gwaine?" he asked, glancing at Gwaine's house.

"There's so much to do here," Morgause said, sounding apologetic. "And I think you have made other plans. I would not want to impose on you both." When Merlin started to protest that it was perfectly all right, Morgause stepped down from the stone steps leading to her front door. She came to stand beside Merlin. "It's all right, Merlin. I am going to be around here for a bit. I will go and say hello to Gwaine the soonest I can."

Merlin frowned. He wondered why it should matter to him that she would be all alone when he walks away from her. "Are you sure you're okay? Do you have everything you need?" It was only when he had spoken that he realized that he coming across more like a busybody than anything.

If Morgause was surprised at Merlin being concerned, she did not show it. She was gentle with her reassurance. "Yes. Once I de-clutter, I should be fine."

Merlin was not satisfied with her answer. But, he was stretching his welcome. "Call me…us…if you need anything. I just live two streets away," he told her.

"I will," Morgause said. When she saw that Merlin was about to dispense with his phone number, she put a hand over his. "I have your number, Merlin. All of your numbers, in fact," she said. At his surprise, she added, "I always did."

There was nothing more for Merlin to say or do. "Okay," he relented, more to himself than to Morgause. His next statement surprised himself once again. "You should know that I am leaving you with great reluctance."

Morgause arched an eyebrow ever so slightly. But, she was grateful and let Merlin know that. "That's very kind of you, Merlin. But I'm okay for now. I have plenty to do anyway."

Having nothing else to say, Merlin nodded. And then, he leaned forward and kissed Morgause on her cheek. "Nice to see you again, Morgause." He then turned away from her, frowning as he wondered what prompted him to kiss her. It was a social kiss, but still…this was Morgause. The last person on earth he thought he would be socializing.

Merlin turned around to look at her just as he reached Gwaine's front gate. He frowned and could not explain the disappointment he felt when he could not see her outside her house.

=X=X=X=

Gwaine really did not care one way or the other if Morgause just moved into the neighbourhood. It was hardly callousness on his part; he hardly knew her, despite being related to the Pendragons. Besides, if she was anything, she certainly did not wait around for them to socialize with her. She was devoted to Morgana, but did not transfer any affection to the rest of them. Perhaps they were just kids at that time and she did not want anything to do with them. Having all grown up now, Gwaine just could not muster enough enthusiasm for his new neighbour as much as Merlin had.

Now, if Ringo Starr had moved in…his reaction would have been stratospheric, to put it mildly.

Merlin had been just slightly annoyed that Gwaine did not display anything more than a mild curiosity when he told her about Morgause and the circumstances that preceded her moving into his street. Gwaine honestly did not want his Saturday to be dominated with the news of Morgause getting a divorce and being his neighbour so he deftly pulled the conversation to more pressing matters, like breakfast.

Apparently, that too annoyed Merlin and Gwaine had to buy breakfast to placate him. After a few pastries sweet enough to make his teeth hurt, waffles, fruits, a large chocolate bar and enough orange juice for three small children, Merlin was sufficiently appeased and Gwaine's Saturday began to pick up. Merlin did not mention Morgause again and that, along with a hearty breakfast, had left Gwaine in a good mood. He even let Merlin drive his car; an adventure that lasted all of ten minutes before Merlin got pulled over by the policeman, who was convinced Merlin was a minor not old enough to drive. Gwaine stepped up, all barrister-like and talked their way out of it. Merlin was impressed and that made the whole ordeal of getting pulled over bearable. But he did not let Merlin drive after that. His car was built for speed, and Merlin's driving was an insult to its heritage and horsepower.

It was when they arrived at the arts exhibition that Gwaine realized why Lance and Arthur had been so encouraging when he told them about the trip to Bath. When he saw the pictures of the elephants and the chimps on display on the banners, he knew exactly the theme of the art exhibition. Gwaine had looked at Merlin and told him he took offence at both the deception and the fact that Merlin was enjoying his bewilderment. Merlin had laughed and putting his arm around Gwaine, led him inside the huge tent where the artwork was being displayed.

Once they were inside, Gwaine was not surprised that Merlin sort of lost himself. It was the only way to describe Merlin whenever he was near any sort of half-decent artwork. Merlin became an appreciative connoisseur, a mild critic (what is there to critic when the artists were elephants and chimps?) and more like a kid lost in a candy shop where everything was free. Gwaine just tagged along with Merlin, agreeing whenever Merlin pointed something out, be it a brush stroke or colour or an abstract pattern that Gwaine was sure he could only see with the aid of 3D glasses. Merlin was explaining things to Gwaine; half of which Gwaine hardly registered. He was glad Merlin was having a good time and was happy to share the moment with him.

"You should buy this," Merlin said, in that off-handed manner whenever he is in the presence of any sort of painted artwork or sculpture. He was looking at the canvas mounted on a stand in front of him, one hand fisted under his chin, and looking very thoughtful.

Gwaine, who had been looking at the way the lights were fixed on the ceiling of the tent, was surprised that Merlin was speaking directly to him. For the last ten minutes or so, Merlin had been absorbed by the study of the painting in front of him, leaving Gwaine to his own devices. Since he was with Merlin, and since he had always given Merlin priority in everything, Gwaine had studiously ignored the appreciative glances he received from a group of local girls, some of them pretty enough in a natural sort of way to give the girls in London a run for their money. Perhaps later, he would hook one of them up with Merlin and they could spend their time talking about animal artwork.

"What's that?" Gwaine asked, coming towards Merlin, who was still looking at the canvas intently.

"You should buy this," Merlin said again, nodding at the canvas in front of him.

Gwaine looked at the canvas that had captivated Merlin. He frowned when he saw that the canvas was basically empty, with just a few splashes of colour at one edge; the brown and red colours making it look as if the canvas was rusting or decaying. Gwaine leaned forward, to see whatever it was that Merlin was seeing, but it was a futile effort. He only saw white. At the top of the canvas, a card had been tacked, with details of the painting, if it could be considered as one. It was painted by Gigi, a chimp in Rwanda, its price in the range of a small used car. Gwaine straightened up and cleared his throat. He was all for good art; more so for contributing to good causes, but a painting by a chimp was the last thing he intended to invest in. Besides, he just made a donation to the animal sanctuary; a substantial enough amount to warrant a photograph with the organizers and volunteers and a promise of a newsletter to let Gwaine know how his contribution would be used.

"What the hell is that?" Gwaine asked, keeping his voice down in the hushed environment of the exhibition tent. He wondered why people were always quiet at art exhibitions. It was not as if the voices of the people were going to spoil anything.

Merlin launched into an explanation about the artwork; something involving the purity of life being stained by moral decay. Gwaine wanted to point out that the chimp probably had a little trouble holding the brush straight, what with the lack of opposable thumbs and all. But Merlin saw something in the painting and Gwaine was not going to risk having a sulking Merlin around for the trip back to London, so he just shut up. When Merlin had ended his discourse, he looked at Gwaine expectantly, waiting for the correct reaction from his, which would be Gwaine reaching for his chequebook again.

"I don't know, Merlin," Gwaine said, trying to let Merlin down as gently as possibly. "Where would I put this?"

For all the precaution Gwaine took not wanting to hurt Merlin's feelings regarding the painting, it was Merlin's reaction that had Gwaine by surprise.

"Maybe I'll get it for Morgause. As a house-warming gift," Merlin mused, almost to himself. Merlin must have surprised himself with the idea, because he suddenly looked up from the painting, smiled to himself as he agreed with what he had just said and started his gift - hunting. Gwaine was reduced to tagging along, which he had not minded before but when Morgause's name came into the equation, Gwaine felt inexplicable irritation.

Gwaine had always exercised patience when it came to Merlin and his eccentricities. In fact, he had always indulged Merlin in whatever he wished to do. But that day, Gwaine just could not get over the fact that what was supposed to be their time together being dominated by getting a gift someone who had nothing to do with them before this morning. This visit to the art exhibition was supposed to be about Merlin and Gwaine having fun. But now, Merlin was more concerned with getting the right kind of painting for Morgause. He went around the tent once again, looking and analysing the paintings on display, making some remarks that Gwaine did not bother to listen because Merlin was sure as hell not listening to him any longer. It was as if Gwaine was not there at all. It was as if the sole purpose of their visit to the exhibition has become a trip to get something for Morgause.

The more he thought about it, the more angrier he got. Finally, after two laps around the tent, Gwaine decided he has had enough.

"I'm going to find us something to drink," he told Merlin, and for all his effort, he might as well been talking to the light fixtures in the tent. Merlin was distracted by an artwork by an elephant, nodded when he heard Gwaine. Gwaine pretty sure Merlin would have nodded if he said he was going to find himself a whole litter of kitten to slaughter; Merlin's attention was fully focused on the painting. Which Gwaine admitted to himself, as he walked out of the tent to one of the stalls selling refreshments, he did not mind. But the fact that Merlin was distracted because of a task associated with Morgause…that was enough to rile him up once again.

The refreshment stall was manned by a girl, pretty enough to warrant Gwaine telling her so and staying for a conversation. He bought bottled water and chatted with the girl about the exhibition. She was telling him that she was an arts student at university and Gwaine was about to tell her about Merlin, when Merlin emerged from the exhibition tent. Gwaine called out for Merlin. Merlin saw him, smiled and come up to him at the stall. He looked happy enough and all thoughts of being ignored dissipated from Gwaine, until Merlin stepped up next to him, looked at Gwaine and then at the blushing girl.

"Incorrigible," Merlin said, shaking his head.

It was just a word. And Merlin had used it in front of Gwaine many times. He had called Gwaine by that word more times than both can remember. But at that moment, had the bottle in his hand been empty, Gwaine would have squeezed it into oblivion. It was still unopened, but that did not mean it was safe from any sort of physical harm. Merlin might have just been joking, but it was unasked for. Merlin was the one who had ignored Gwaine and now he was berating him for having a conversation with someone who actually wanted to listen to him.

And the worst part was, Merlin probably thought Gwaine was amused when he said this, because he laughed and patted Gwaine's shoulder in a manner that seemed almost condescending to Gwaine. The part of Gwaine that wanted to, quite surprisingly, lash out, was reined in tightly by his self-control and he managed to give a tight smile that on any other day would have immediately alerted Merlin that something was not right. It did not help matters when Merlin insisted on Gwaine taking a look at the painting he has chosen and already bought for Morgause. Merlin had to almost drag Gwaine to see the painting, an artwork by a baby elephant, which Gwaine had to say all the appropriate things about because Merlin was looking expectantly at him.

The novelty of the art exhibition was already gone from Gwaine and he was thankful when Merlin says he was ready to leave not long after. Gwaine made short work of the drive back to London, pushing his car to the limit. The conversation was mainly one-sided; Merlin talked about the artwork he saw. He also wondered if Morgause would like the one he got her. Gwaine's response was limited to a few words or monosyllabic grunts. Not that Merlin noticed. In fact, Merlin did not even notice that Gwaine had driven them back to London without even stopping for lunch. What was supposed to be a whole day trip ended before lunch. Gwaine did not feel like spending his meal time listening about Morgause's house warming gift.

Gwaine drove straight back to Arthur's flat, something that Merlin was strangely disappointed with. He probably wanted to call on Morgause and deliver the gift. When Gwaine parked next to Arthur's Jaguar, Merlin got out of the car, looking at Gwaine and probably contemplating asking him to drive him to Morgause's place. This time, Gwaine's temper must have manifested quite obviously on his expression. Merlin, thankfully, did not make any requests that would have caused Gwaine to throw his keys at him. Since Merlin did not remove the painting from the car, Gwaine resigned himself to the fact that he would be a part of the delivery team when the time comes.

Merlin fell silent as they made their way into the building. By the time they were riding the lift to Arthur's floor, Gwaine, whose quick temper had an equally quick expiration, was finally beginning to feel bad for getting so ridiculously mad at Merlin. Glancing at the man next to him, Gwaine realized that he had quite possibly over-reacted; Merlin had always been a nice guy to anyone he meets and if he wants to buy a gift for a recently-divorced Morgause, then Gwaine ought to be proud to have a friend who was willing to make a friendly gesture towards someone who was almost a stranger to them all. That was what made Merlin the person he is. Gwaine was beginning to feel bad for being so irrationally irritated with Merlin and decided to make it up to him by taking him for a late lunch to that Thai restaurant where the waitresses think Merlin is the cutest guy in London. By the time the lift reached Arthur's floor, Gwaine's mood was considerably better off and they alighted from the lift with Gwaine, his arm around Merlin, telling him about the girl at the refreshment stall who thought Merlin could teach her a thing or two about brushstrokes.

"Gwaine!" Merlin was shocked, as usual, whenever he hears Gwaine talking like that. Gwaine feigned innocence, before they both broke out laughing. They entered Arthur's flat, still laughing, and Gwaine felt as if everything was back to normal again.

"That is very domestic of you," Gwaine called as a greeting to Arthur, who was doing in the midst of folding freshly-laundered linen. He was on the sofa, the television switched on to a cricket game, a huge basket of folded clothes next to him on the floor. Gwaine took a seat on an armchair, and immediately switched the channel to a football game. Merlin headed straight for the kitchen to forage for food; something that made Gwaine feel guilty. He decided to give another ten more minutes before suggesting lunch to Arthur and Merlin.

"Well, not everyone has a housekeeper and a butler," Arthur remarked, snatching the remote from Gwaine's hand. He pressed the button for his previous channel and frowned when nothing happened. He hit the remote against his thigh twice and tried again. It did not work. Then, it dawned to him. He sighed and held out his hand at Gwaine. Without looking at Arthur, Gwaine took the batteries he had removed from the remote out of his shirt pocket and put it on Arthur's hand. It was a trick Gwaine pulled almost all the time and he was lucky Arthur did not hit on the head with the remote. Peace prevailed and Gwaine watched the cricket match silently, waiting for the right moment to suggest pad Thai and spicy soup and brighten up all their days.

Of course, it only when things appear painfully normal that it is usually closer to the opposite. Merlin came into the living room, a plate stacked high with toasted bread. He took a seat on another armchair and as he started on his first toast, spoke to Arthur.

"You wouldn't believe who had just moved into Gwaine's street."

It felt grating to Gwaine's ears, when Merlin started on Morgause again. Arthur listened, and because Gwaine was so sick of hearing of Morgause, he decided he would rather endure sitting through a delayed telecast of the match he had already seen live at Lord's, and pretend not to hear anything Merlin was saying. He did not look at Arthur to see what his friend's reaction was. Arthur sounded interested enough but before long, he declared they go pick Guinevere up and go for lunch. If Gwaine thought Merlin was going to drop the topic of Morgause, he was wrong. Merlin felt as if he had to tell Arthur what seemed like every last bit of detail of his meeting with Morgause. Gwaine was mostly silent as they made their way out of the flat and into the lift. It was only halfway down when Arthur realized Gwaine was quiet.

"What's wrong with you?" he asked, looking at Gwaine, as if trying to figure out Gwaine's morose expression.

Before Gwaine could answer, Merlin replied, "He's been upset since he got to the exhibition."

Gwaine looked at Merlin, wondering if he had figured everything out.

"No nude models," Merlin added in a matter-of-fact way, with a nod of his head. "Gwaine was more than a little disappointed."

Arthur looked at Gwaine, a puzzled expression on his face. "I don't think that's it," he said, frowning.

Merlin was convinced that it was and said so, which Arthur did not convince Arthur. Gwaine decided to put an end to all speculations.

"Mate, I have never been more disappointment in my life then I was at the exhibition." It was not until he had spoken that Gwaine realized he had spoken the truth.

Merlin was, of course, surprisingly oblivious to all this. Arthur looked at Gwaine, the speculative look still prevalent on his expression.

"Trust me, Arthur," Gwaine felt compelled to explain. He still maintained that light-hearted tone of voice to indicate that he was amused, with just the right amount of disappointment to make it all seem like a comical weekend misadventure. "If I had known, I would not have gotten up at such an ungodly hours for the trip."

Another truth. This was getting ridiculous. But luckily, Arthur was convinced enough to send a berating look at Gwaine.

"But, I met a nice girl at the refreshment stall..." Gwaine added and plunged into an overly-cheerful description of the meeting.

Everything he said after that was only half – truths. The truth remained; Gwaine had been disappointed. And it had nothing to do with the absent models, nude or otherwise.

=X=X=X=


	10. Chapter 10

Long time since an update, but real life and a cousin's wedding happened, so I had to oblige. This is a filler sort of chapter. Thank you for all the favourites, reviews and alerts. I will post the next chapter the soonest I can.

Reviews make my day in a way chocolates struggle

* * *

><p>Uther Pendragon had declared that Pendragon Industries would not be having their annual Christmas party that year. Morgana was the one who organized the parties and this year, both Pendragon father and son had so far refused to contemplate the festive season without her. No formal announcements were made regarding the cancelation. To make up for it, Uther had a dinner party, for all seven hundred plus employees, at a banquet hall in London. The dinner was held in mid-November and was referred to as the company's annual dinner in conversations and the invites. Mid-November seemed a little early but the elder Pendragon had already decided that he would not be spending December or Christmas in the country. He had decided to take a trip to the States; the official reason given was to attend some seminars and meetings with the players of the defence industries. If anyone thought Uther was simply turning his back on a period of festivities that Morgana had been extremely fond of, they did not say it. In fact, none of them were thinking of Christmas or parties. It was agreed that they would have maybe a Christmas dinner or lunch, but they have not discussed about it yet. Christmas still a long way off and for the time being the Pendragon Industries dinner dominated their week.<p>

Lance has had his invitation hand delivered by the CEO of Pendragon Industries, Arthur Pendragon, which meant that he could not possibly turn it down without drawing Arthur's ire. Arthur would not be too pleased to hear any work-related excuses because he knows Lance's workload has been slightly reduced. Lance had finally accepted the promotion his magazine had been offering him since earlier this year. His job new as the editor of the Culture and Arts section of the magazine entails not only a paycheque with a slighter larger amount on it, but also an office with the view of the back of another office building and less traveling. It was for the last reason Lance took up the promotion; he could not bear to be away from London from any length of time. He puts flowers on Morgana's headstone every morning. The rest of them knew this; Guinevere accompanies him on certain weekends, but for the most of the time, they let him do whatever he feels was necessary to help him heal and cope.

On the designated Saturday, Lance, who had been in the office until five in the evening to work on the Christmas issue, rushed home from work to get ready for the dinner. He knew that Gwaine, who was picking everyone up that evening, would not appreciate being kept waiting. Gwaine was already upset that he lost at drawing straws and was the designated driver for the evening and Lance did not want to upset him any more than necessary.

Lance got ready on record time, ignoring the stab of grief he felt as he buttoned his cuffs and did his bow tie. Both had been Morgana's task and that evening was the first time he was putting them on himself. The cufflinks, gold with sapphire reminiscent of Morgana's eyes, slipped twice from his hands. He took a deep breath, tried one more time. He got them in. The bow tie, it was useless, because he never really learned. After a few attempts, it finally resembled a decent bow and Lance figured if anything was wrong with it, he could always get his friends to redo it for him. His hair was fine, so it took less time to make him presentable for a formal dinner. By the time he was done, his mobile rang and Merlin announced that they were outside in the car. Lance gathered his coat and keys and left the flat, once again ignoring the emotions that were brought forth by the fact this was the first time he was dressed to the nines and leaving the flat without Morgana. He locked his flat and when he turned around, he was surprised to see someone attempting to break into the flat opposite his.

"Excuse me?" Lance said, transferring the keys to his left hand, to be wielded as a weapon, if necessary. The thought that the criminal who was breaking in might be carrying something else more menacing than a bunch keys never really crossed his mind.

The supposed criminal stopped fiddling with the door and turned around; Lance bracing himself for the pending violence. Apprehension gave way to surprise when he saw that the criminal was actually a girl. But these were bad times they were living in and Lance was not taking any chances. He tightened his grip on his keys, now wishing he had something more reliable than the Swiss Army knife attached to the keychain.

"What are you doing?" he asked.

"It's not what it looks like," the girl said, flustered. She looked normal enough; average height, blond hair piled into a pony tail that was fast on its way of becoming undone. Her clothes consisted of faded jeans, a peach coloured blouse, peacoat and scarf, indicating student of some sort, but Lance knew he can never be too sure of these kinds of things. There were all sorts of criminal types…

"I have a key," she added, holding up a big bunch of said keys from inside her oversized tote.

"I'm calling security," Lance said, using his right hand to reach into the pocket of his coat.

"That will be fantastic," the girl replied, much to Lance's astonishment. He had been expecting fear, frustration even. At the very least, she could have snarled at him. Relief was the last thing he expected from her. "If you would not mind so much, could you please tell them to bring something to pry open this lock?"

"I am not going to be an accessory to any criminal activity."

"I would not expect anything less from an outstanding citizen such as you," she remarked, looking at him with clear blue eyes and a slightly raised eyebrow.

"You make it sound like it's a bad thing, as opposed to suspicicous behaviour in front of someone's door," Lance said, quite surprised at himself for allowing this conversation to continue when he should be calling the building security.

The girl sighed. She looked at Lance, and then, cocking her head, nodded at the keys in his hand. "I suppose that is your self-defence against a criminal like me. Scratching my face with a key?"

"It looks like a burglary attempt to me," Lance said, speaking his defence plea, should it come to a violent confrontation.

"From your side of the hallway, maybe," she remarked. She sighed in defeat. "I guess it looks bad for me." Seeing Lance nod, she continued. "I am not trying to rob the house. Actually, I am part of its security measures, if I can only get in. Dr John Watson hired me as a house sitter. He's…"

"Off on a holiday," Lance remembered the conversation he had with Dr Watson a fortnight ago. He and his partner were involved in some sort of mishap at a swimming pool. Lance hardly remembers the details of that conversation because it had been one of those mornings when things were not as rosy when he woke up. The doctor and his partner had dropped by at Lance's flat, offered their condolences again and told of their pending departure to some place where there is more chances of sunlight for their recuperation from their accident.

"Yes," the girl said, nodding, looking more relieved now. "Dr Watson is rather attached to his hydrangeas and wanted them to live through the winter. He offered me some money to house sit for him when the when the domestic service he hired became short-handed due to the holidays and the flu. I could use the extra pounds before I got a place of my own, so we had an agreement," she explained, speaking quite fast. "I am to house sit for them until they return. That is, I hope to house sit for them, seeing that I am still locked outside their flat."

Lance knew the wise course of action would be to call Dr Watson to confirm what he just heard. Another wise option would be calling security. But Dr Watson was probably somewhere where it was not raining and did not need to be unnecessarily alarmed or distracted from his mojitos. Besides, she looked genuine enough and none of Lance's internal alarms were going off. And then, he said something that surprised them both.

"Let me help you."

She started to protest, but then probably realized that she needed his help. She fished out the keys from her bag and gave it to Lance, moving away from the door as she did so. Lance found the right key; it was labelled with the flat's number and slotted it into the keyhole. He twisted the doorknob. Nothing budged.

"I think it's stuck," she offered and Lance, his mobile already buzzing in his jacket, wanted to thank her for pointing out the obvious, but he was too occupied with the door. He could be obstinate at times and decided that the day's challenge would be his neighbour's door. He was not going to let a piece of wood get the better of him.

One more try and a hard push with his shoulder, he stepped away from the door and declared, "Not anymore."

"You did it," the girl said, sounding more surprised than impressed, something that Lance felt he should take offence with. But, he shrugged, nonchalant, all the while looking at the door in a rather disdainful manner. He turned to the girl, much more relaxed now.

"So, just to confirm; you are not robbing my neighbour, are you?"

She laughed her mirth genuine and relieved. "I am Elena Godwyn, part – time nurse and part- time student," she said. "Even if I was robbing the Watsons, I would probably stash my loot in their spare bedroom. I just moved out of my hostel.

Lance held out his hand. "I am Lance du Lac."

Elena's hand in his went slack. He released it, seeing the surprised expression on her face. Of course, Dr Watson would have mentioned about his grieving neighbour. Suddenly, he did not want to stand there in the hallway anymore.

"Dr Watson told…" she began, but Lance interrupted her.

"Yes," he said, nodding and not particularly in need of sympathy from a stranger, even if he had just been an accomplice to said stranger in a robbery attempt. "I have to go," he added, jerking his thumb in the general direction of the lifts.

Lance did not wait for her consent. He gave a nod and walked away, going to the end of the hallway, where the lifts were. One of the lifts was just arriving on his floor and when it opened, a very worried looking Gwaine was in it.

"What happened?" Gwaine asked, as Lance stepped into the lift.

"I think I might have just helped someone to rob my neighbour," Lance told Gwaine, pushing aside darker thoughts that threatened to seep into his consciousness.

Gwaine, who had been worried that Lance was involved in some sort of a mishap between his door and the front of the building, looked at Lance and in all seriousness replied, "Don't worry about it. I got you covered."

"Thanks mate," Lance said, equally serious. "I am glad I have barrister for a best friend."

"You can be glad by offering to drive this evening," Gwaine remarked, as their lift reached the ground floor. The door opened and they walked out of the lift. Lance looked at Gwaine, frowning, ready to argue that the outcomes from drawing straws cannot be revoked. Then, he thought of what he had just done not five minutes ago.

Merlin, Arthur and Guinevere were very surprised when Lance took the driver's seat and drove them to the hotel where the dinner was held. He told me he volunteered but kept silent about his 'voluntary' criminal activity.

=X=X=X=

Uther Pendragon was pleased to see his son arrive on time at the hall. Arthur usually is not one prone for tardiness but his friends were notoriously so. Uther was also pleased to see that the boy, Merlin, was dressed in a dinner jacket like the rest of them. Last year's Christmas party saw him arrive with electric blue coat and cravat. Uther remembers Morgana leading him away after the party with only the coat in hand.

Uther was with his personal assistant, standing at the reception lounge of the hall. He looked like he wished he was somewhere else and it was true. He was only here because it his obligation; he owed it to his employees and investors. He was glad he only did this once a year. Pretending that he was perfectly fine looking at the members of his staff drink themselves silly or flirt with the potted plants was a chore, because the next time when his sees his staid Chief Financial Executive, he would remember the man's disastrous turn at the dance floor, attempting some sort of movement that was more of a seizure than a dance. He knows they are all excellent employees. He just wishes he did not have to see them all so…festively- inclined. But, this evening, he knew things would be a little different. The employees know it as well. Of course, he would not deny them alcohol, but the celebrations would be a little muted, that's all.

Arthur and his friends came towards him, a courtesy call more than any genuine need to want to be seen talking to him. Lance gave Uther a hug; he had the right and it had been some time since Uther last saw him. Lance did call him once or twice in the last few months, but beyond asking how they were, the conversation had been short and just slightly uncomfortable. Lance looked as if he was coping well, Uther noticed. Of all Arthur's friend, Uther could tolerate Lance because he was quieter than the rest. And also because he had the courage to come to ask for Morgana's hand in marriage, before proposing to her.

Gwaine shook his hands, in a distracted manner that made Uther grit his teeth. Gwaine was his nephew, the son of Anne, Ygraine's younger sister. Gwaine's father was one of her colleague's in the law faculty of the university she was lecturing at that time. Gwaine was apparently conceived on the night Anne's doctorate thesis was accepted by the Senate of the university. She did not marry her colleague, she never did marry anyone, but bore her child anyway, which makes her a rebel in Uther's eyes. He finds it unbelievable that Ygraine would have a sister like Anne, who is the opposite of everything his wife was. Gwaine is the only remaining male du Bois in the family and holds the title of the Earl of Huntsley and does very well indeed to carry on his mother's tradition of revelling in being the black sheep of the family. Anne was in New Zealand now, lecturing law at a university and returns home once a year to make sure Gwaine was not working too hard. Both mother and son were a thorn on Uther side and he knew they shared the sentiments regarding him as well. Gwaine moved away after shaking his hands and pretended not to see him for the rest of the evening.

Merlin, the godson of the GP in Tintagel and the son of the art teacher at St. Matthew's, was next. He has not changed that much, from the skinny kid who followed the rest of the around. He was making quite a name for himself in the country's art scene, but that did not impress Uther much. A man needs a solid job, not a glorified hobby. Merlin managed "How are you, Mr Pendragon?" before moving away. Arthur was behind Merlin and patted him on the shoulder before stepping up to Uther.

"Father," Arthur greeted, with a nod and Uther could not help feeling proud of him. His son and heir. How different he was compared to Gwaine and the rest of his friends. Arthur is the centre of attention wherever he goes; because of who he is and what he will be in the future. Arthur is the future of Pendragon Industries and sole heir to the March of Tintagel and the earldom of the du Bois family, in the event of Gwaine not having a male heir, something that Uther doubts seeing that he is mother's son and probably has sired one or two without realizing it. The Pendragons were an ancient and illustrious name in the country and Arthur is an outstanding example of the tenacity of his forebears. Of course, Uther had never said any of this to his son, but Arthur should already know what his position in business and society entails him to be.

"You're on time, Arthur," Uther replied, looking at his son. Perhaps that was not the right thing to say, but it is the closest to praise Uther could give. Anything more and Arthur would become…complacent. When that happens, Arthur would stop trying harder; being a Pendragon is a fulltime job. And a Pendragon is nothing less than perfect.

Arthur seemingly ignored Uther's words, as he pulled Guinevere towards him. Uther's surprised registered in his expression. Of course he knew Guinevere; she was Morgana's best friend. They were inseparable. Any time Uther saw Morgana, on the rare occasions he was at home, Guinevere would be close by. She was a quiet girl, always choosing to remain in the background. Her father taught horse-riding in the school they went to and if Uther thought Morgana could have chosen a better class of friend, he did not say it. Uther hardly thought of the girl, she was of no consequence to him.

"Hello, Mr Pendragon," Guinevere greeted him, looking very nervous.

Uther managed a small smile. "Guinevere," he acknowledged. And then, he remembered something. "Were you not supposed to be working in Milan?"

"Rome," Guinevere corrected him. "I'm in London now. I have a job here."

Other guests were arriving and Uther was looking at them beyond Guinevere's shoulder. "That's good," he said and Arthur pulled Guinevere away gently. Uther immediately forgot about Arthur and his friends and welcomed his employees and investors; he did not have to do, but he had to for the sake of being regarded as a benevolent employer. He was just the right amount of cordial and friendly to them all, knowing this was the first time some of them had ever seen him up close. Or seen him with a smile. It was hard being the person in charge, not to mention the one who sets the standard in their organization. He has to be uncompromising at times, which was necessary for the greater good of the company.

It was not until they sat down for dinner that Uther realized something. Arthur and his friends were at the table next to his, having as much fun as they could in a formal party attended by Uther Pendragon. The five of them had another five people at the table and from the looks if it, they were the only ones already having a good time. Arthur as boisterous as his friends were, but that is only expected. It is party after all. What surprised Uther was the apparent closeness between his son and Guinevere. They were seated next to each other and it was obvious by their closeness that there was something deeper than friendship between the two. Of course, they did not kiss or hold hands or indulge in anything else equally silly and inappropriate. Uther sat through the speeches by the members of the board, only half listening, his full attention on his son and his companion. Even when he was giving his speech, Uther found himself looking at them both.

It was during the first course that the realization became more of a slap on his face. Arthur saying something to Guinevere, who was listening to him. She reached out a hand to brush something of his shoulder and deliberately (quite deliberately) brushed the side of his face. Arthur smiled, the kind of smile that would be ridiculous in any other situation expect for the one he was in now.

Uther Pendragon has come to believe that his son, the future of Pendragon Industries, and the heir to a title and fortune more vast than anyone could imagine, is besotted. With an ordinary girl whose father used to teach horse riding in school.

If this was left to continue, it will bring unpleasant consequences for Arthur. Uther decided that he will intervene soon. After all, he has the best interest of his son in heart.

=X=X=X=


	11. Chapter 11

One month and more since my last update. Real life, school, Deepavali and exam papers took over my life, at around the same time the Muses rebelled, leaving me with less inspiration than I would have liked. The Muses are slowly returning, thanks to five episodes of Series 4.

I had to oblige the many Arthur/ Guinevere fans who keep asking for more scenes of them together. Well, here is a bit of it. Hope I did all right.

I appreciate reviews to let me know if I am doing something wrong, as much as I would love one saying that you have enjoyed reading it. And I apologize for the typos and grammar errors.

* * *

><p>"I'm going to be late."<p>

"Fine by me."

"People are watching, Arthur."

"They haven't seen anything yet."

With that statement, Arthur moved his hands, one to the small of her back and another behind her neck and drew her closer to him, prolonging his goodbye kiss. The few times Guinevere managed to break free from Arthur's kiss, his lips sought hers out and claimed it again. One of the best thing things about Arthur, besides the many, many other things that sets him apart from any other men, was the fact that he was a great kisser. So much so that going in late to her office was something Guinevere felt worthwhile, if it was with the memories of his kiss.

"You're doing this on purpose," Guinevere said, and immediately wished she had not spoken, because that had meant breaking contact with Arthur's lips. It also meant that Arthur has now abandoned her lips and moved to the hollow of her neck behind her ear. Guinevere closed her eyes and willed her legs not to betray her and join the ranks of jelly.

"Am not," Arthur said, his warm breath on her neck sending shivers down her spine. In a most decidedly wonderful way. They were in the outdoor parking lot of Guinevere's work place and a small group of her colleagues had gathered by the glass wall of the reception area, watching Guinevere say goodbye to Arthur. The colleagues were not very subtle about it and though Guinevere had been a bit worried that Arthur was displaying slight exhibitionist tendencies, she decided that this was Arthur's way of tempting Guinevere not to leave him.

"You have a meeting," Guinevere reminded him, her hands reaching for his at the back of her neck. She gently removed them and was rather sorry to lose the ministration of Arthur's lips on her neck when he looked at her. He looked surprised that Guinevere wants to bring an end to what was a most pleasant five minutes, but then , another wicked glint in his eyes and Arthur was raring up for a second round of goodbye kisses.

"I'm cancelling it," Arthur said, eyeing the curve of Guinevere's neck rather hungrily.

"No, you're not," Guinevere replied, this time removing his hand from her back. Still holding his hands in hers, she took a step back, ignoring the protests of every fibre of her being that lamented the distance between her and the man she loved. Of course, she was more than delighted when Arthur closed the gap between them by taking a step forward.

"Yes, I am," he remarked, his voice low and husky. "Japanese investors versus hot girlfriend. Guess who wins?"

"I will not have you seducing me in the parking lot," Guinevere warned him, hardly a warning because she was smiling and her body was responding in all the appropriate ways it does whenever Arthur speaks to her in that voice.

"Would you rather I seduce you somewhere else, my love?" Arthur asked, his serious look belied by the wicked twinkle in his eyes.

Guinevere laughed and Arthur took it as a permission to kiss her again. Guinevere let go of his hand and she was pulled back into the warmth of his embrace.

Breathing necessitated them to draw apart. "It's just for two nights," Guinevere said, pushing back Arthur's hair from his forehead, one her favourite preoccupations with regards to Arthur's hair.

"It's too long," Arthur sounded almost petulant. Which Guinevere had to admit was true. Ever since she returned from Rome, she had not been away from London or from Arthur from prolonged period of time. And ever since their third date, only Guinevere's clothes and things were living in Gwaine's house. Gwaine did not seem to mind, although he gave exaggerated eye rolls whenever Arthur stays the evening at Guinevere's room and comes down for breakfast the next morning. It may seem an impractical arrangement, but as far as Arthur and Guinevere are concerned, the main picture was that they are together. They were happy together and everything else, like the location of her wardrobe, seemed a bit inconsequential.

Everything was going well until last evening Guinevere was asked to join a design team headed to Cardiff. The team was to refurbish a farmhouse and it was the first time Guinevere has been given something more challenging than designing kitchens for flats. She told Arthur of the trip, who at once declared that he loved Cardiff and there were a lot of places they could see while they were there. Guinevere had said that she would be working and would not have time for sight-seeing, which Arthur scoffed at. That almost earned him an evening by himself, but Guinevere, already none too happy about leaving her boyfriend, forgave almost instantly and they had a pleasant rest of the evening together. Arthur dropped Guinevere off at work and from the moment she punched in to work and punched out for lunch, she had been receiving text messages from Arthur, varying from the cute ones to the slightly naughty ones, to the absolutely kinky ones. She could not call him, seeing that she was in a meeting with the design team she was going to Cardiff with. The people in her team must have been surprised with the amount of time Guinevere asked to be excused to the loo, or to take something from the office. Every forty – five minutes, she would do this to check her mobile phone and would be pleased to find Arthur has sent her at least four texts. Guinevere's favourite was the one where Arthur pleaded Guinevere to take him with her. Seeing that his pleading though text messages did not work, Arthur has decided that he should outright seduce Guinevere from going to Cardiff.

Guinevere had to admit that Arthur was doing a rather good job at changing her mind about Cardiff. But then, the sensible part of her, the part of her that has no business in interfering with her kissing with Arthur, reared it rather ugly and practical self, reminding Guinevere about a meeting Arthur mentioned he was scheduled to have with a group Japanese businessmen later in the day, when he dropped her off to work earlier that morning.

"I'll be back before you know it," Guinevere told him, taking hold of his hand again. The stupid practical side of her was on full force now, reminding her that both of them are getting rather late for work. "And I will be thinking about you the whole time."

"And what will you think of most about me?" Arthur asked, allowing the physical gap between him and Guinevere to grow a little.

Guinevere thought for a minute, before she turned the question on to him. "What will you think of most about me?"

Arthur smiled, leaned forward and whispered into her ears, "I will remember how you looked at me when I came out of the shower this morning. You looked rather hungry, my love."

Surprise turned to amazement and amazement was almost on the verge of turning into something quite inappropriate for the public to see. Guinevere looked at Arthur; breathing and standing becoming quite a chore with the way her body was reacting to what Arthur had said and the way he was smiling at her. His words triggered a mental image that caused far too much pleasure than discomfort, despite standing in the middle of the parking lot, under a grey cast sky and being watched by her co-workers.

Guinevere decided that Arthur deserved a reward for his effort in seducing her with such finesse at a parking lot. She leaned forward, gave him a kiss on his cheek, and hugged him. "I will remember never to leave you again," she told him, breaking away from his embrace.

"Is that a promise?" Arthur asked, smiling, as he reached out and touched Guinevere's face. The smouldering look he had on moments ago has replaced by something else entirely; something that made Guinevere more reluctant to leave than for everything he had said and done before this. He looked at her with such tenderness, the love he had for her and their bond so evident his eyes.

Guinevere felt her throat constrict, tears stinging her eyes. Her heart was heavy, she did not want to go to Cardiff, she did not want to refurbish farmhouses.

Guinevere just wanted to stay with Arthur.

The sensible side of her was quiet, but it has already made its presence known. Guinevere knew she had to go to Cardiff; what it will accomplish, she did not know. Before her tears became too much for her to hold back, she let go of his hand and stepped back.

"It certainly is," she told him. "More to me than for you."

Guinevere turned away just as an errant tear fell from her eyes; feeling like a little girl. She was berating herself; she was a grown woman and here she was acting all childish at leaving her boyfriend.

"Guinevere?" Arthur called out, halting Guinevere in her steps. Guinevere was glad she was far enough from Arthur for him not to notice the tears in her eyes.

"Yes, Arthur?" she said, forcing her face into a semblance of normalcy and coaxing a smile from her trembling lips.

"I love you." Arthur in the middle of the parking lot, his hand on his heart and Guinevere knew this is what she will remember Arthur by when she is stupidly mucking around in the farmhouse in Cardiff.  
>"I love you too."<p>

And because Arthur knew her so well; well enough not to be next to her to know that she is crying and that she is torn with the idea of leaving for Cardiff. And because Arthur was not the kind of man to make Guinevere choose between him and work. And because Arthur just wanted to see Guinevere smile again, he replied, "I love you two, three, four…"

It was ridiculous and idiotic. But it served its purpose. Guinevere laughed, another tear fell from her eye and they both simultaneously turned away from each other; both knowing how difficult it would have been for the other for doing so. Suddenly, the looming distance between them and the number of hours apart was no longer a burden.

Guinevere was going to miss Arthur, that was a fact. But she will be returning home to him. And that was all that mattered.

=X=X=X=

Arthur's meeting with the Japanese businessmen ended earlier than he had anticipated. It was a final meeting to smooth out the wrinkles of the agreement Pendragon Industries have made with the Japanese electronics conglomerate before Uther Pendragon signs the papers to seal the deal. The Japanese businessmen had invited Arthur along for tea, suggesting English sushi. Arthur, the patriot in him horrified of the existence of such food stuff, had declined, citing lesser engagements that he has given his word to. The Japanese men were most impressed by the polite manners of the younger Pendragon and they bowed deep and patted Arthur on the back heartily before leaving.

Arthur sat at his table, looking at some files without really seeing it, wishing that five o'clock was not another forty –five minutes away. He had already tried Guinevere's mobile, but kept getting the annoying electronic voice that told him she was out of range. He had already left her three voicemails and any more would be pushing it, so he decided against it. He pushed his chair away from his desk, contemplating if he should spin on it and see how many times it would take before he got sick when his mobile rang. Arthur smiled when he saw Lance's number on display.

"Hello?" Arthur said, swivelling in his chair to face the glass wall behind him. The view of a rainy London greeted him.

"Mate, are you sulking yet?" Lance's voice was cheerful at the prospect of Arthur being in a bad mood.

"I might just start," Arthur remarked, settling back comfortably on his seat.

"Gwaine told me to tell you that you are not allowed to sulk or pout in his presence when you come over later," Lance said, and from the distracted way he was talking and the sound of laughter in the background. Gwaine must be driving, thus Lance acting as an intermediary. And Lance has more common sense than to switch on the speaker phone; he would not have been able to get a word in between of Arthur and Gwaine's petty comments of each other. "Pouting more so."

"Then tell him to wear a bag over his head," Arthur replied, unable to feel irritated even when he wants to. "My girlfriend is in Cardiff and I have a right to pout and sulk. I shall do what I want."

"I agree with the bag, mate," Lance said, laughing. "It would be a marked improvement."

"Thank you."

"Monster movie and dinner at my place, mate," Lance told much to Arthur's delight. "Gwaine's got _Swamp Creatures of Urgur_…"

"Family movie?" Arthur said, just because he had to. Anything that involves Gwaine cannot pass him without him commenting on it.

"Starring you, he says," Lance remarked, at the sound of Gwaine's urging.

"Definitely bringing a bag," Arthur replied, trying to not to laugh.

"You can settle that yourselves," Lance said. "Anyway, I'm making lasagne and Gwaine is making trifle. Don't interrupt, I'm not done…" That was a warning to both Arthur and Gwaine. Arthur, with his mouth open to dispense with whatever disparaging comment he had for Gwaine bringing a trifle, closed his mouth and listened obediently. Gwaine too had fallen silent.

"Anyway, as I was saying," Lance continued, not missing a beat. "We have the food, you need to bring the drinks."

"Aye, aye," Arthur said. "I'll be there at seven. Did you call Merlin?"

"Gwaine had tried, but Merlin hasn't answered," Lance replied.

"His mobile is probably swimming in water – colour," Arthur dispelled any notions of a calamity befalling their friend.

"Perhaps," Lance said, not overtly concerned. Merlin going off the grid for a few hours while he painted not something new. He paints in either Arthur or Lance's flat, or in Gwaine's house. Sometimes he paints at Hyde's Park. He normally switches off his mobile while he paints because he knows where the rest of them can find him. "Anyway, I already told him about this yesterday, so I think he should be waiting for you at the flat."

"All right," Arthur said. "See you soon, mate."

"Sure. Gwaine says to tell hello to your secretary."

"Tell Gwaine to s…"

"I don't want to hear it. My mobile. And you should send him a text if you want to talk him, Gwaine. That goes for you too, Arthur…"

"Don't be late, Princess," Arthur heard Gwaine hollering from the background before Lance rang off.

Arthur smiled, as he turned towards his desk again. He put his mobile on the table, shaking his head as he thought about his friends. Monster movie night was a twice monthly event in their calendar, when they get together at Lance's flat and watch B-grade monster movies. Their actual date for monster movie night was scheduled for next week, but Arthur knew why they had brought it forward to this week. He knew his friends were checking up on him. And he was glad they did. Because now, in the loneliness of his office, thoughts of Guinevere had invaded his mind again.

Arthur knew this was a natural part of him missing her, and that it would be perfectly acceptable for him to go over to Lance's flat and have a good time; something that he knew Guinevere would be extremely supportive of. But in the silent office, Arthur only heard the sound of his heartbeat; each beat reverberating to the sound of Guinevere's name. He welcomed the feeling; it showed how much he loved her and had come to accept it as part of his being.

The clock has slowly inched its way past the half hour mark. Arthur decided to leave his office early, seeing that there was nothing much for him to do. He put away his files, relishing the thought of the weekend ahead and monster movie night as he picked up his briefcase. And then, he remembered.

Guinevere was in Cardiff.

Arthur was in London.

And that was when his eyes fell on the little yellow-haired troll doll Guinevere won for him at the fair they attended last weekend. Guinevere had fished the designated number of rubber ducks and was asked to choose between a pink cushion and a three inch troll. She chose the troll claiming the yellow hair matched Arthur's. Arthur had not been amused until Guinvere kissed him better and gave him the troll. He put it on his desk because he reckoned that is what a boyfriend does when their girlfriend gets them something whimsical as a troll. He remembered Guinevere's laughter, her quick smile, the warmth of her hand in his. He remembers sharing an ice-cream and the sweet ice-cream tinged kisses.

Arthur looked at the troll again.

Cardiff was only a hundred and twenty miles away or so. It would take him two hours the most to get to where she was. Or slightly less.

Monster Movie night was forgotten. The black Jaguar sped out of London on its way to Cardiff. The only thing in Arthur's mind was the receding number of miles between him and the woman he loves.

=X=X=X=


	12. Chapter 12

Merlin signed his surname, Emrys, at the bottom right of the recently finished painting and took a step back. It was the view of the ancient castle ruins on a hilltop in Tintagel; painted by Merlin from memory, with the aid of a sepia-tinted photograph his mother had taken all those years ago. The painting was not a commission; this was Merlin's own need. Merlin remembers countless adventures he had in the ruins with his friends when they were younger; the mock battles they had most vivid in his memory; he remembers breaking his arm when he fell to the ground awkwardly in the midst of jumping from a tree and unto Arthur in their re-enactment of one of Robin Hood's adventures. He had painted the ruins, quite possibly drenched in nostalgia and the whole thing looked rather sad. Merlin could never judge if his painting was good or bad, but he could always convey whatever he felt into it. And in the last couple of days, he had been inexplicably sad.

Ever since the Pendragon Industries had their annual dinner last week, Merlin found himself missing Morgana very much. In the three years Guinevere was in Rome, Morgana was Merlin's go-to person for everything; from offering a fresh eye in viewing a painting to getting his laundry done the correct way whenever Arthur refuses to help. Of course, Guinevere and any of the guys would gladly help him out (the guys would complain, but they still would help), but the knowledge of that fact did not help Merlin at all. He wanted to talk to Morgana, he wanted eat her too salty stew and he wanted to hear her say his painting was a bit too dark for what was supposed to be a cheerful place for them all.

His studio became gloomy and Merlin put his brush into a jar filled with turpentine, trying not to look at his tear-away daily calendar that was inching towards December. He pushed aside all thoughts of Christmas, tried not to think about how excited Morgana and he got on the first day of December when they began their shopping expeditions and planning parties for Gwaine, Arthur, Lance and her own as well as Merlin's. He looked at the painting on the easel by the bay windows, sighed when he could not muster enough happiness to be proud of the painting.

Merlin left his studio, closing the door behind him, feeling as if finishing the painting had drained him. The flat was quiet and in need of light and warmth. It was nearing half past five in the evening and the skies have opened up, unleashing an outpour of rain that brought with it unrelenting chill. Merlin switched on the lights and the heat, all the while searching for his mobile which he had discarded earlier that afternoon when he went into his studio. Upon switching it on, he found text messages and phone calls from Gwaine and Arthur. They had sent two texts each; the earlier ones sounding concerned while the later ones were slightly threatening, especially Arthur's. They have scheduled Monster Movie Night, something that delighted and brought a genuine smile on Merlin's face for the first time that day. Merlin had been asked to bring suitable snacks for everyone and that he should be at Lance's flat before seven o'clock.

Merlin sent his affirmative to Gwaine and Arthur and set about getting ready to go to Lance's. He changed his clothes, checked to see if the stove was on, despite the fact that none of them had used the kitchen since yesterday. He was putting on his coat when he saw the large rectangular package leaning against the entertainment cabinet.

It was his gift for Morgause; the painting he got for her at the exhibition at Bath. Gwaine must have removed it from his car when he drove them to the Pendragon Industries' dinner. He had told Merlin about it and made some sort of vague promise that they will deliver it to Morgause together. The painting had languished at the back of Gwaine's car for a week, seeing that he does not use the Ferrari to work (he has a classic Mini for that purpose or sometimes just takes a cab because taking his beloved cars to work would mean leaving them '_to bake in the sun or soak in the rain_'). Merlin had wanted to suggest Gwaine to drop the painting at Morgause's house but then surprised himself at how much the idea distressed him. He felt that he had to deliver the painting himself.

Merlin stared at the package, his mind calculating the time he has before he has to show up at Lance's. It was twenty minutes to six and the movie would start at half past seven. They were going to have dinner together, but Lance would save him a plate, he reckoned. He could drop by at Morgause's, give her the painting, get the munchies for movie and reach Lance's flat before any of them got seriously irritated for the absence of snacks.

His mind made up, Merlin went towards the entertainment cabinet. He put the mobile phone in his hand on the shelf next to the television and picked up the package. He smiled to himself and left the flat, his mood picking considerably. His mobile phone rang shortly after he had locked the front door of the flat, the ringing muted by the walls and the rain, an ominous sound in the stillness of the empty flat.

Merlin took an extravagant cab to Morgause's house and it was not until he had paid the driver and was about to run out of the cab and into her miniscule porch that the thought of Morgause not being at home and the apparent bad manners of showing up unannounced at someone's house, never mind if he was delivering a gift.

The cab driver's subtle, impatient cough prompted Merlin to throw caution and good manners into the air, thinking that the heavy rain would be enough for Morgause to let him into the house. He covered the package with his coat, opened the cab door and ran out, managing to close it behind him, wincing as more rain fell on him, worried about the painting rather than himself. The rain had gotten steadily heavier and even the little porch in front of Morgause's house (more of a slightly extended door frame than a porch really) did not offer enough shelter from it.

Merlin rang the door and waited, pulling the coat-concealed package close to him. He was unsure of what he was going to do or why he was doing it and felt his happy mood, with every passing second since he rang the door bell, slipping towards an area of general miserableness brought on by uncertainty and getting soaked by the rain.

What seemed like hours passed, when it was only a few moments since, and the porch light came on, just as the front door open, revealing Morgause, the apron over her power suit incongruous due to its polka pattern. Merlin forgot about how miserable he was getting wet in the rain. He forgot he had to buy snacks for watching movie with his friends. All he felt was happiness at seeing Morgause, her slightly surprised smile and the pressure of her hand on his as she pulled him out from the rain, the darkness and the misery he was in earlier.

=X=X=X=

According to Gwaine, grocery shopping became an Experience for everyone at the supermarket when he showed up there. As Lance got the things he needed, Gwaine managed to get at least five phone numbers from shoppers and staff there. There was also an invitation for dinner that evening and breakfast the next morning, which Gwaine reluctantly turned down, but promised to give his answer in a day or two. There was also an offer to rearrange his face and his teeth by a husband who go irritated by Gwaine's kindness in pointing out the man's wife had a beautiful smile. Lance pretended not to know Gwaine while they were in the supermarket; picking up a pineapple should the need to subdue either Gwaine or any other irritated partners or spouses arise. Grocery shopping done, Lance led Gwaine out of the supermarket without a look backwards. Lance was sure he would find angry looks as well as the slightly dazed look and smiles women usually have after a close encounter with Gwaine.

They then drove to Gwaine's house, picked up the trifle his housekeeper has made for them and a change of clothes before heading back to Lance's flat. Lance, as he waited for Gwaine to pick up his things, tried Merlin's mobile phone and the flat's phone again, but he only managed to get through to voicemail and the answering machine instead. If Lance was worried, he did not have the time to entertain it, as Gwaine returned to the car with the trifle and a backpack, talking on his mobile phone with one of the shoppers at the supermarket. He ended the conversation as he fastened his seat belt, pocketing his mobile with a roll of an eye. He told Lance that Merlin had sent him a text, assuring them he will bring the snacks. They did not talk much during the journey to Lance's flat; Gwaine concentrating on driving in the pouring rain and Lance trying to quell the worry that was slowly encroaching his mind for reasons he could not quite place.

They reached Lance's building shortly and Gwaine parked in the basement parking. As they got out of the car, Gwaine's mobile phone rang again. Lance looked at Gwaine, an eyebrow raised questioningly.

"Breakfast invite," Gwaine told him, ending the call without answering it. He picked up the large glass bowl containing the trifle as he shouldered his bag.

"You need a girlfriend," Lance told Gwaine. They walked towards the lift and got in, Lance pressing the appropriate buttons to get moving to his floor. It was not a long ride; Lance's flat was on the second floor.

"Is that what you think?" Gwaine asked, his good humour unfazed. The lift stopped at Lance's floor and they got out as the door opened.

"Not really. A girl does not need the grief on a daily basis."

"You say grief. Many would disagree…" Gwaine's voice trailed off as he realized Lance was not longer paying attention to him.

Lance was frowning, as he regarded the object at his front door. He hastened his steps towards it, Gwaine close behind, his frown identical to his friend's.

"Mate," Gwaine said, as they stood side by side regarding the high kitchen stool left in front of Lance's door. "I think someone has left furniture at your door. Did you loan out any kitchen stools?"

The apparent seriousness of the moment was broken. Lance rolled his eyes and turned to Gwaine. "Yes," he remarked. "I give furniture to people who need it. Honestly, mate, can't you see the jar of cookies on it?" He pointed at the clear glass jar on the kitchen stool, containing what looked like chocolate chip cookies. A square white envelope was placed beneath the jar; Lance picked it up as Gwaine picked up the jar, putting his bowl of trifle on the stool as he opened the jar, the frown quickly replaced with delight.

Lance opened the envelope and found a small card inside, with words written in a cursive hand.

_Thank you. For helping me rob your neighbour. Here are some cookies for your trouble._

_Elena_

Lance smiled and pocketed the card. Gwaine looked at Lance, an eyebrow raised, one hand already in the cookie jar.

"Your partner in crime?" Gwaine asked.

"I am not a criminal," Lance said, getting his keys out of his pocket to unlock his front door. "Nor am I an accomplice. I would be one, I think, if I ate the cookies." He opened the door and picked up the trifle bowl. And since he was lacking extra hands than the two that is already occupied with the trifle and his groceries and having a best friend who is more interested in cookies baked by supposed criminals, Lance hooked a foot to one of the legs of the stool and dragged it inside his flat. He left the stool on the narrow hallway separating the door from the living room of the flat.

"More for me then," Gwaine replied, taking a cookie out and biting into it as he followed Lance into the flat. "Oh, this is good. She is good."

"How did you know it was a girl?"

Gwaine rolled his eyes as he dropped his bag on the sofa and turned away to the kitchen, indicating that he was not going to dignify that question with an answer. Lance looked at Gwaine, frowning, but when Gwaine disappeared into the kitchen, he let allowed himself to smile. Of course Gwaine would guess it was a girl. He shook his head, left the kitchen stool near the closed door and went inside his flat, all thoughts of cookies and criminal activities pushed to the back of his mind.

Lance prepared lasagne and salad, with Gwaine proving to be more of a general nuisance than help. They talked about the Test Match Lance managed to see in midweek, a few of Gwaine's more colourful clients and going back to Tintagel in December without the mention of Christmas. Lance appreciates the fact that his friends would only talk of Morgana is he initiates it and that evening, he was not ready to include Morgana in their conversation. Morgana had always enjoyed it when Lance cooked for her and the amount of memory and grief that came with seemingly simple act of making dinner was just a little too much of emotions to handle for the evening. He would not have been able to cook anything if he had been alone.

The lasagne was assembled and put into the oven. Gwaine offered to set the table, which was his way of getting out of washing up. Lance cleared the kitchen counter and glanced at the clock on the refrigerator. It was ten minutes to seven and neither Arthur nor Merlin had shown up. Arthur should already be there, unless some last minute thing popped up and he was held back at the office. Even so, he would have called to say he was late. Perhaps, he was on his way to the flat…

The rain became heavier; accompanied by thunder and lightning. As Lance looked out the window near the sink, where he was washing the kitchen towel he had used, he saw everything was slick and dark outside. He could not see anything beyond the falling rain, not the road below nor the building opposite him. Sometimes, Lance found the rain comforting. That evening was not one of the occasions. Even Gwaine was quiet, an unnatural act in itself.

Lance finished in the kitchen, flattening out the towel on the counter before leaving the kitchen. He called out for Gwaine, just for the sake of breaking the silence.

Just as he stepped into the living room, the silence was shattered by the ringing of Lance's mobile phone. Gwaine emerged from the spare room he used whenever he stayed over at Lance's flat, having changed his suit to a more casual t-shirt and jeans. As Lance picked up his phone from the side table here he had placed when he came into the flat, Gwaine came towards him, probably unaware he was doing so, the worry on his face discernable.

Lance answered his mobile. He only managed a "Hello" before the ominous feeling that had loomed in the back of his mind exploded forth.

Lance would say that he had been anticipating the bad news as much as he had been trying to ignore the scratching and the persistent nagging at the back of his mind. Still, it was hardly a compensation. He did not think anything could ever prepare anyone to listen to some stranger telling them their friend has been involved in an accident.

=X=X=X=


	13. Chapter 13

Warning: A little bit (half dozen times or so) of swearing by Gwaine.

* * *

><p>"I don't understand it."<p>

Morgause was frowning as she regarded the painting Merlin was holding up to her. He had given her the package he had wrapped up in his coat, safe and dry, after a flurry of explanation that included art exhibition, house warming gift, rain and other things Merlin cannot saying the moment he had spoken it. He was excited, slightly afraid and a gamut of other emotions he could not name at the moment. He had gotten Morgause the gift, because it was something he felt compelled to do; his offer of friendship the way he knew best. He had not thought about what she would feel regarding the gift. And now all the uncertainties that he never considered weighed down on him, confusing him further.

_Would she like it? _

_Would she hate it?_

_Where would she put it?_

_Will she accept it?_

_What does she think of him getting her the painting? _

Merlin stood in the middle of living room, feeling more than slightly ridiculous, holding up the painting to Morgause, his hair still wet. He felt compelled to explain the painting to her. "Well, it's…" Merlin began hesitantly.

"No." Morgause shook her head. "No explanation." And after what seemed like hours after she has spoken, she added, "I love it."

"What?" Merlin frowned wondering if he was hearing things.

"I love it," Morgause repeated. "I don't have to understand it to love it, do I, Merlin?"

Merlin was struck speechless. He was stupidly glad his ears were not deceiving him. Morgause's approval of the gift has yet to sink in. "I…No, I guess not."

"It's a lovely gift," Morgause said, smiling. "Thank you, Merlin."

Merlin muttered something to convey that he was glad. Wonderful, he thought. His speech was now failing him. .

"Let's just put it here first," she said, stepping up to take the painting form Merlin. She put the painting on the wall next to the fireplace. "I'll find a suitable place to hang it soon."

"Okay," Merlin managed.

Morgause turned to Merlin again. "Could I offer you a glass of wine? Tea maybe?"

"Wine sounds better," Merlin said. Having accomplished what he came to do, he felt oddly at ease in her presence. His head felt clearer and he could not remember feeling nervous or anxious.

"And some pasta of questionable taste and texture to go with it?"

At the mention of pasta, Merlin is reminded of movie night at Lance's. But one look at Morgause, hopeful and lonely, and a glance out of the window, where rain was pouring and showing no signs of letting him, and his mind was made up.

"My pleasure."

Morgause's grateful smile tugged at Merlin's heart. He felt sad knowing that she would be alone if he left. And Merlin, not used to loneliness and always hating it when circumstances causes him to be lonely, was glad to be able to bring a bit of happiness to Morgause. At least, for this evening.

=X=X=X=

Guinevere was about to leave her hotel room and go down for dinner, when her mobile phone rang. She smiled to herself; it has been two hours since Arthur last called her. She could imagine Gwaine or Merlin confiscating Arthur's mobile phone and hiding Lance's house phone, just to give Guinevere a break from him, but mostly to see Arthur sulk.

She retrieved her mobile phone from her handbag, one hand on the doorknob, her full attention on the call she was about to answer rather than leaving her room.

She was surprised to see Lance's mobile phone number on display. But surprise gave way to delight as she realized Arthur must have somehow managed to get his hands on a mobile phone and was calling her without any of his friends knowing. She swiped the screen of her mobile; eager to speak him, missing him even more that she thought was possible.

"Arthur…" Guinevere actually wanted to sound disapproving but she could not mask the delight she felt.

"Guinevere, it's me, Lance," Lancelot's voice sounded quiet.

Guinevere's smile dimmed a little. Something dark crept at the edges of what had been a bright day so far and Guinevere swallowed, apprehensive and quite possibly a little afraid.

"Hey, Lance." She did not know what else to say beyond the two words. She very rarely talks to Lance over the phone; she could talk to him if the circumstances were right, but it seemed to Guinevere that Lance was not calling her up to inquire about her journey to Cardiff.

"Guinevere, I…I have something to tell you. Gwaine and I feel that you have to know."

"Where is Arthur?" An icy grip of fear has descended upon her causing Guinevere to tremble. And she felt a sudden hatred towards Lance and Gwaine. Why do they need to decide anything, she thought. Arthur would call her if something was wrong.

Since Arthur did not ring her…

Guinevere closed her eyes, shaking her head to dispel whatever thoughts she had regarding Lance calling her. It was as if she was trying to clear her mind, quell any thoughts, good or bad and give Lance the chance to say what he wants to tell her.

Lance's voice never faltered as he spoke uninterrupted for the next minute or so.

Arthur's Jaguar was found forty minutes ago by the side of the road leading from London to Cardiff, on the other side of the road from the Maidenhead exit. A passing truck driver saw the car crashed into a tree. Arthur had been unconscious when he was found at the wheel of his car. The emergency workers managed to revive him when they arrived and Arthur was coherent enough to tell them that he had swerved to avoid a dog that run into the road. The road had been wet and Arthur lost control of his car…

Guinevere could no longer hear Lance. She slumped against the wall, needing the support of the wall to stand upright. Her legs have failed and she no longer could hear Lance. Her vision was blurring; tears pricking her eyes. She could not speak, her throat constricted, her low sobs seemingly stuck deep in her chest.

Lance continued to speak, not because he was heartless, but because he knew Guinevere would want to know what happened to Arthur. Arthur was at the A&E at St. Matthews, just outside of London. The extent of his injuries were unknown, the doctors would not say anything just yet. Lance and Gwaine were, naturally, at the hospital and he finally asked if Guinevere wanted to return to London.

Guinevere said yes before Lance finished the question and Lance must have been expecting this answer because he told her that Gwaine was already on the phone, speaking to the ticketing officers of the first available flight back to London from Cardiff Airport. Guinevere nodded and then remembering Lance could not see her, stated that she would get a cab to the airport if Gwaine would send her the details of her flight via text message. Lance said he will and rang off, but not before assuring her, in his usual calm and quiet manner that Arthur would be all right and Guinevere should not worry too much. This time, Guinevere could only nod, tears streaming down her face, as she made her way back into her room, now more than ever hating the distance between London and Cardiff.

The next few minutes after she rang off were a flurry of movements and actions that were mostly automatic. She grabbed her unopened suitcase and coat and her toiletry bag and she was done. Whatever she left behind, she could always text her colleague who was sharing the room…supposed to be sharing the room with her. Guinevere decided that she would call or text her colleague to inform about the emergency but when she would do that eluded her. She knew she could not do anything else for now. All she wanted was to get to Arthur. She had to apologize to him.

Because it was her fault Arthur was hurt.

Arthur had been on his way to her when he got hurt. Whatever happened to Arthur was Guinevere's fault. It was not the puddle on the road or the tree or a dog that had hurt him. She did, sealing his fate, when she chose to come to Cardiff.

=X=X=X=

A nurse, passing through the hallway Gwaine was at, smiled, at him; appreciating the gorgeous man whose presence at the not-so-cheerful lounge at the end of the hallway broke the drabness of the whole place. She was startled, however, when her friendly gesture was replied with an angry snarl from him. She quickened her steps, surprised by his reaction. Had she glanced back, she would have seen Gwaine remove his mobile phone from his ear and curse silently under his breath.

Gwaine was standing at the small lounge, ignoring the chairs and sofas in it because all he could think of when he saw the furniture was kicking them. He was in the lounge, the only place where mobile phones were allowed in the building, making phone calls to the ticketing counters in Cardiff. The people he talked to had been friendly, sympathetic and understanding, expediting everything for Guinevere. Gwaine had been grateful for the whole lot of them. Their cooperation had been the only good thing so far this evening. With Merlin missing, Arthur in the A&E where the doctors and emergency workers have yet to determine the extent of his injuries, everything looked pretty much as fucked up as it did an hour ago when they go the news of Arthur's accident.

Gwaine finally relented and took a seat in of the armchairs in the lounge, mobile phone still in hand. Lance was at the registration counter; he was the only one between them with the patience to deal with idiotic bureaucracy at times like this. Arthur had already been brought into the A&E slightly less than an hour before Lance and Gwaine arrived at St. Matthew's; almost forty minutes of reckless driving in the rain getting them there. Gwaine did not go into the ward where the doctors were working on Arthur, only Lance did and the sight of Lance's pale face and almost frightened look in his eyes deterred Gwaine from inquiring about Arthur. Gwaine knew Lance as someone who was not easily rattled…but perhaps all that had changed since…since Morgana died.

Gwaine's anger rose. He did not want to think of Morgana at that moment. It was unavoidable, of course, but that did not make it the right thing to do. And they were dealing with two different situations; no doubt it was equally fucked up, but it was different. Gwaine would be damned if Arthur Pendragon did no emerge from the A&E alive. Gwaine would kill Arthur…if Arthur dared not to be alive by the end of the evening.

Gwaine's anger mostly had to do with Merlin, out of range from them since the text he sent them two hours ago. Gwaine has already tried all the places Merlin should be at; the handful of studios and galleries in the city, art classes at the local elementary school, his flat, Gwaine's own house, Lance's flat and anywhere else Gwaine could think of. Merlin's mobile phone would have registered almost a dozen phone calls from Gwaine and several text messages.

Gwaine did not want to worry about Merlin, not now, but as it is, he has been put into a position where he was inevitably worrying about Merlin. And as his worry grows, it manifests as anger. Because one should not be as fucking stupid as just to disappear. Because that would be as stupid as to die because they ran their car into a fucking tree trying to avoid a bloody dog.

Gwaine took a deep breath. He can be patient when the situation calls him to be so; he has, after all, dealt with people from both sides of the law. But that evening, with Arthur hurt and Merlin God only knows where, he felt as if he was being stretched all directions and does not know where he should go. His mind was simultaneously blank and filled with an infinite number of thoughts. It took him some time to regain some sort of composure. And because he was an idiot and did not know when to quit, he tried Merlin's mobile number again.

Two rings later, Gwaine disconnected the call, his disposition grim. An idea of Merlin's whereabouts formed in his mind and the more he thought of it, the angrier he became. But his concern for Merlin overwhelmed any other emotions and he steeled himself as he searched in his mobile phone's directory for the number he was looking for. He found the number, felt sick to his stomach, closed his eyes; his mind now a total blank as he waited for the call to connect, not knowing what waited for him at the end of the phone call.

"Hello?"

Her voice felt grating to hear. But he had no quarrel with her. If anything, she could be helpful to him.

"Morgause? This is Gwaine." He was leaning forward on his seat, both elbows on his knees, one hand rubbing his temple, alleviating the sudden headache he felt, while the other held his phone to his ears.

"Oh, hello, Gwaine." Somehow Gwaine felt the cheer in her voice was not the result of his phone call.

"I was wondering if…"

Bloody fucking hell. This was his worst nightmare played out in full Technicolor glory. He should not be asking her this question.

Because he, Gwaine du Bois, Merlin's best friend, should know where Merlin is at all times.

Because Gwaine does not want to hear, not from Morgause, or anybody else for that matter, that Merlin was at her house.

"I was wondering if Merlin came by…"

Her response increased the venom in his bitterness. He did not know who hated more at that moment; Merlin or Morgause.

"He's here. Let me get him for you."

Her answer was enough to make Gwaine want to hang up, to disconnect the call. He already knows where Merlin is. And since Merlin was not at the hospital with them, then, he felt that he really did not have to tell Merlin what had happened to Arthur. Merlin being his friend is, as far as Gwaine was concerned, a foreign concept for the moment.

The mobile phone must have switched hands.

"Gwaine?"  
>Anger and relief melded into one confusing, messy emotion that called forth a profusion of swearing or a silent thank you to God. Gwaine stifled the swear words and closed his eyes momentarily to convey his gratitude. When he opened his eyes again, he found himself unable to speak.<p>

"Gwaine?" Merlin's voice prompted. Gwaine, who has known Merlin all his life, could see that little by the name of worry could be heard in Merlin's tone of voice. If anything, he just sounded curious.

"Arthur's hurt. Lance and I are at St. Matthew's."

"What?"

Gwaine pressed the END button. He could not talk to Merlin anymore. Anger, frustration and surprisingly (fucking surprisingly), sadness overwhelmed him. He would have flung his mobile phone to the floor, but he loved it too much to inflict any physical abuse to it. It was a fucking gift. From Merlin.

Whom he now hated in a way he has never hated anyone before.

And at the very next heartbeat, Gwaine turned the hate towards him; hating himself for hating Merlin.

Gwaine also hated Arthur in equal parts. For not seeing a bloody fucking tree.

=X=X=X=

_Reviews, comments, mistakes pointed out…they make my day. And I am sorry for the swearing in this chapter. Updates will be the soonest I can, if real life kept its interference at a minimal. My love to all of you who has read and enjoyed the journey so far. My apologies as well, for taking so long to update. _


	14. Chapter 14

I am very lucky indeed, that my lateness in updating does not cause my usual bunch of readers (friends to me, all of you) to abandon this story. For that, I thank you very much.

ellabellamj, Fatima, THANK YOU for reviewing. And for anyone of you who sent me a review and I did not get back to you, THANK YOU as well.

Here's another two chapters. I hope it's alright. Any grammar errors and typos are mine. I took (A LOT OF) liberty with the medical stuff, so, please bear with me.

And as usual, do send me feedbacks. It makes my day.

* * *

><p>A lack of activity prompted Gwaine to abandon his vigil in the lounge and make his way to the café on the other side of the hospital wing. Lance was still in there, seated in one of the sofas there, silent and still save for the mobile phone he was twirling in his hand. After several inquiries they made were given the absolutely vague and slightly annoying answer of "We are unsure" and "The doctor is still working on him", Lance and Gwaine had given up on asking. Their frustration was more to not getting the answer they wanted than to the staff. And the sympathetic looks were not helping either. The minutes ticked by too slowly and Gwaine, unused to silence or stillness for a prolonged period of time, decided to get some coffee; for the sake of something to do.<p>

It has been forty – five minutes since Lance contacted Guinevere. She had boarded the flight out of Cardiff twenty – minutes ago. Conversations became too difficult, for the lack of anything worthwhile to say and the general disability to speak. She assured them, via text, that she would let them know the moment she is in London. Gwaine had already told Lance that he will fetch Guinevere from the airport.

The café was almost empty. A couple of tired and harassed looking doctors having coffee at a table on one end of the café, looking as if they would welcome something stronger than the coffee they were drinking and a cigarette. Closer to the counter, a father and his teenage daughter were having a simple meal of sandwiches, relief obvious on their expressions; perhaps whatever ordeal they were facing was now over. The sight of them lifted Gwaine's spirit; not for the predicament he was in, but for the father and daughter. It was nice to see that there are good things happening in the lives of others. Gwaine did not begrudge them anything; whatever happiness they were experiencing, they probably deserve it.

Gwaine approached the counter, trying to coax a smile into his features. Anger had passed; he had never been one to remain angry for prolonged periods of time. All he felt at that moment was nervous frustration; worried about Arthur and frustrated with himself at how utterly useless he was in this situation. The moment they got the news of the accident, Lance had a bad time trying to rein Gwaine in. He sped all the way to the hospital; Lance's request to slow down was shot down by a glare, conveying his disapproval for the suggestion. Lance kept his peace. Until they were at the hospital and Gwaine ploughed his way through the crowd in the A&E, looking for Arthur. That was when Lance had held Gwaine back told him quietly that unless Gwaine had a medical degree stashed somewhere, he was not being much help to anyone. Gwaine had wanted to push Lance away and for that, but a nurse came with the news about Arthur just then. Five minutes later, Gwaine realized Lance was right; Gwaine was just getting into everyone's way. The thing Lance said about the medical degree brought a smile to his face and not for the first time, Gwaine admired his friend for his calm courage.

An elderly woman was at the counter. "Yes, love?" she asked and Gwaine would have told her everything he felt; she had one of those grandmotherly types that looked as if she dispersed with hugs and pots of tea on a regularly basis. Whatever Gwaine felt, all those bad emotions (so many emotions crammed into his mind, it felt like his head was an abyss of darkness) dissipated with the warmth of her voice and smile. The smile on Gwaine's face felt more voluntary than reflexive.

"Coffee, please," Gwaine said, surprised when he felt a lump in his throat. Perhaps the strain of what was happening had finally gotten to him. "To go."

"And how many would that be, love?" the woman asked.

Gwaine opened his mouth; four was the most common answer he had always provided for this question; four jugs of beer, four tickets, four steaks well done (Merlin's steak is always shared –he was a vegetarian whenever the mood descends upon him- while Gwaine, Lance and Arthur each gave Merlin their portion of salad and potatoes). The answer had always been four.

But how many this time?

Two?

Gwaine was not sure if Lance wanted coffee; he was sure he did not want any.

Three? Because Merlin might just…

The thought of Merlin once again caused a whole gamut of emotions to rise forth from the dark abyss within him. But, maybe he had done something good somewhere, because at that moment, the universe decided to offer him a reward…a break from the darkness. He heard soft footfalls behind him.

Gwaine closed his eyes. He would recognize those boot-clad footsteps anywhere. He had consciously tried not to think about Merlin since he called him, but the effort it took not to think about Merlin was futile; because it only intensified the thoughts of him, making Merlin's absence from the hospital more painful than Gwaine could have ever anticipated.

But now, Merlin was here. Relief replaced anger. Gwaine turned around and saw Merlin looking at him, his eyes wide and shiny with tears uncried.

"Merlin," Gwaine said his name, for the sake of saying it aloud.

Merlin took a step forward, offering his apology and seeking comfort in form of a hug. Gwaine pulled Merlin into his embrace, all darkness within him dissipating.

Gwaine looked at Merlin as he drew away from him. "No news…Arthur…Lance said…you…here…" Merlin's voice was breaking, as he felt compelled to explain. A tear fell from his eyes and he was visibly trembling.

Gwaine, with the arrival of Merlin, felt an unprecedented wave of optimism. "Arthur will be fine…"

"That's what I have been trying to tell him…"

Morgause appeared behind Merlin, her smile sympathetic. "But he had to hear it from you…"

Gwaine did not realize that he dropped Merlin's hand until he saw the perplexed expression on Merlin's face. But at that moment, all Gwaine felt was as if everything he felt in the few moments when it had just been him and Merlin had been sucked out, leaving behind a vacuum within him that offered no explanation or emotion to what he felt when Morgause showed up.

Words failed him. Gwaine felt numb, the depth of pain accompanying the emotions he felt when he saw Morgause conveying only one thought.

Morgause did not belong there. It was an act of betrayal by Merlin.

=X=X=X=


	15. Chapter 15

The clock struck half past eleven, a full hour since Guinevere arrived from the airport (in a cab, because asking Lance or Gwaine to fetch her seemed unfair), when a doctor, middle –aged and slightly tired – looking, came into the lounge, a clipboard in hand and an unreadable expression on his face. Guinevere and Gwaine had been standing by the window, looking out at nothing in particular (the view was obscured in darkness but the falling rainwater on the glass windows were just the right kind of mind-numbing distraction she needed), while Lance, Merlin and Morgause (Guinevere was unsure at how Morgause knew about the accident, but did not inquire about it) were seated at the assortment of sofas and armchair, talking in hushed tones. The doctor cleared his throat and all of them jumped to attention, moving closer to the doctor, their expressions both apprehensive and hopeful.

"Lance du Lac?" the doctor asked, referring to his clipboard.

Lance stepped forward, swallowing.

"Your friend is…stabilized."

Guinevere could hardly see her friend, or the doctor in front of her, after that; tears flooded her vision, but she did not hold them back; she allowed herself to cry, relief washing over her, an alien emotion since the moment she heard the news of the accident. Her journey, made uncomplicated by Gwaine, had still been harrowing for her, her mind a torment of uncertainty over Arthur's condition and her own guilt of being the catalyst for his predicament.

The doctor's listed out Arthur's injuries; a displaced kneecap, two cracked ribs, whiplash and cuts from the glass of the shattered window of the driver's seat. Guinevere doubted if any of them heard what they doctor was saying; Lance and Gwaine and Merlin were huddled together in the tight group they are, struggling not to cry. She stood a bit further from them, not too far because Gwaine managed to catch her hand and pull her into their group. Every word the doctor spoke was a nail hammered into her being; the truth in painful clarity…she is the cause of Arthur getting hurt. He may have survived this, but he would not have been hurt if he had not come looking for her.

Arthur would have been perfectly fine without Guinevere in his life.

"The patient is conscious and wishes to speak to Miss Guinevere," the doctor said, looking back at them, his eyes locking on to Guinevere. There was a smile on his face and Guinevere felt little comfort when she saw it. "I would normally not allow this, but Mr Pendragon threatened to buy over the hospital. When I told him he was welcome to it, he refused pain medication."

They laughed, quietly, shaking their hands. Only Guinevere's mirth was not real.

"If he's asking for Guinevere, then we're wasting our time here," Gwaine said, looking at Guinevere, squeezing her hand to assure her he was only jesting. "The Princess is well on his way to recovery…"

"Go on then," Merlin prompted her. "We'll be here."

Guinevere nodded, her smile not quite as real the others. She left the lounge, the rest of them taking their seat back on the sofas there. She followed the doctor down the hall to the recovery room, where patients are temporarily kept after their surgeries before being transferred to their respective wards. Arthur's transfer had been put on a bit of a delay because he had been adamant he wanted to see Guinevere first.

"Five minutes, my dear," the doctor told her, outside the door to the recovery room. Guinevere nodded and entered the room, trembling, but not from the blast of cold air that hit her them moment she opened the door. It was by the sight of her boyfriend, injured and broken, lying on a hospital bed.

_I put him here…._

The voice was a mere a whisper, but it chilled her very being.

Arthur's bed was directly opposite the door and he was the sole occupant in the vast room. A I.V drip stand stood next to his bed, a solitary sentinel for the injured man; its tube snaking down and ending in a plaster at the back of his hand. Another step forward and Guinevere could see Arthur, his eyes closed. Afraid that he was unconscious again, Guinevere turned towards the door, wanting to call for the doctor or nurse. Her actions were halted however when she heard Arthur call her name.

"Guinevere?"

Guinevere turned around immediately, but her steps were leaden. She wanted to rush to Arthur, to touch him, hold him, assure her that he was alright. At the same time, she was afraid…afraid that being close to him would only hurt him more.

It was almost as if Arthur knew the conflict within her. Had he been capable of moving about, he would have surely come to her, embracing her. Instead, all he did was raise his hand, looking at her. "Please, my love…"

Guinevere went towards Arthur, tears that were supposed to have been bravely held back falling freely. She went to stand near his bed, took his hand into hers. She only managed to look at him once, before turning away, openly crying. Just one look and she could see the damage done; nicks on his hand and face where the glass from the window had caught him, chest bound with bandage. The worse of the damage was his left leg, extended out from his blanket, spikes and wires on his knees, the bandages soaked in red.

"I am so…"

Arthur's hand squeezed hers, not the feeble squeeze of an injured man, but the assuring gesture she was used to from her man. "No," he said, his voice a rasp, fighting against parched throat and pain.

"My fault," Guinevere spoke, looking at Arthur, kissing his fingers.

"No," Arthur repeated. "The troll made me do it."

Guinevere was surprised to find herself smiling, despite her tears.

"That's better," Arthur said, kissing her hand. He looked tired and his eyelids were heavy but his grip on her hand was a strong. "How are you?" he asked.

Guinevere frowned at Arthur and then realized that it was a genuine question. Only Arthur can be concerned for her wellbeing while lying on a hospital bed after surviving an accident and a knee surgery.

"Better. But not so good," she told him.

"This," Arthur said, bringing her hand to his chest. She could feel his heartbeat, mirroring her own. "Is just a temporary setback, Guinevere. I'll be as good new in no time."

"I'm holding you to that," Guinevere told him.

"And how are the guys?" Arthur asked.

"Lance is quiet, Gwaine is upset and Merlin is stunned."

"They're going to kill me, aren't they?"

"Probably."

"I think I need something as a leverage to save myself from them..." Arthur was looking at Guinevere, his eyes more lucid than it was before.

"Oh?"

"Marry me."

Guinevere was stunned into silence when she heard Arthur.

_It was joke, surely it was. Why else…_

Pain medications. That's it. His system is drugged…

"Arthur," Guinevere's practical side took charge. "You're hurt…"

"No." Arthur's voice was firm, unwavering despite the pain he must be in. "This is me, Arthur Pendragon, stripped and raw." He paused for breath, looking at Guinevere, holding her hand up, his grip assuring her that this was no medication – induced rambling.

There was ever only one answer for this question. Guinevere bent down and kissed Arthur, softly on his lips. She put her forehead on his and whispered her answer.

"Yes."

She drew apart from Arthur, finding his eyes on her. He was smiling. "I love you," she said, finding the three words inadequate to convey how much he meant to her.

"I love you too, three, four…" As he said this, Arthur let go of Guinevere's hand. He took something from beneath his pillow, the movement causing him to wince in pain. Guinevere's heart lurched, but Arthur caught hold of her hand again, assuring her he was fine. He took her hand and fastened his hospital I.D bracelet on her wrist.

"And now, we're engaged," Arthur remarked, kissing her hand.

It was not possible to love someone beyond themselves. That was a concept introduced in movies and books. Looking at Arthur, she realized that it was something that she lived with every day since she knew she was in love with Arthur.

The worst day of her life and Arthur had managed to turn it into the best.

=X=X=X=

Uther Pendragon could not hear what was spoken in the recovery room (the glass walls were soundproof) but he knew exactly what had happened in there. Arthur, quite possibly still a little disorientated by anaesthetic residue in his system, had just proposed marriage to the stablehand's daughter.

Uther stayed outside the recovery room, away from the view of the others in the lounge. Arthur, quite obviously in pain, spoke to the girl; a lot of unnecessary kissing and crying and hand holding, all of which utterly disgusted Uther. A few minutes later, a nurse entered and administered the pain medication Arthur had so valiantly refused earlier. It may seem a gallant act, but Uther decided that it was just ridiculous and stupid.

No woman is worth that much pain.

And the girl, Guinevere, if she had an ounce of sense, she would have seen Arthur in pain and called for the doctor or nurse earlier.

If she had any sense at all, she would know that the ramblings of a doped-up man are not to be taken seriously.

Arthur fell asleep soon after the pain medication was administered. Guinevere kissed his forehead and adjusted his blankets, before leaving him, thanking the nurse as she left the room. He heard the sound of the door opening and closing again, as he looked at his son in the room…though he was not really looking at him. His thoughts raced through his mind, worry for his son mingled with the loathing for the stablehand's daughter, whom he became aware was standing by the door, looking at him, stunned with his presence in the hospital.

"Mr Pendragon…" she began, taking a step towards him.

Uther merely glanced at her. In the few moments their eyes met, Uther hoped she would see and quickly understand what she means to him.

That she is undeserving of her son and anything associated with the Pendragons.

That she is to blame. For whatever has happened to Arthur. Or will happen to him.

Uther turned away and left, uncaring of how the stablehand's daughter would perceive him. As for his son, Arthur was out of danger. Uther knows his continued presence would only make Arthur uncomfortable. Uther was not in the slightest bit offended at not being listed as Arthur's emergency contact; in fact he applauded his son's decisions of naming his son-in-law (who is always around and reliable) as the emergency contact.

But, when the time comes, Uther was obliged, by the prestige of the Pendragon name and fortune, and by his own responsibility as Arthur's father, to show his son that his future is very much Uther's to decide.

=X=X=X=

I shall return the soonest I can with updates. The journey continues...


	16. Chapter 16

__Too long since updates, but Muses, they are hard to figure out. The story is almost done (in my head) and I hope that I could update at a more...fixed time frame.

Anyway, here's a couple of chapters. Reviews have helped tremendously, so **THANK YOU SO VERY MUCH**.

And **THANK YOU** for your patience as well, for sticking by this story. I absolutely appreciate it. Each chapter is written with all of you in mind.

* * *

><p><em>Three years ago…<em>

_ "He's an idiot."_

_ "Of course, darling."_

_ Morgana turned from her perusal of walking sticks and regarded her fiancé, who was not aware his fiancée was displeased with him. He was still looking at the selection of walking sticks on display in the shop. It was not long until before Lance realized Morgana's gaze on him. _

_ "What?" Lance said, looking confused, as he wondered what he had done wrong. _

_ "You could have disagreed," Morgana said, hands on her hips. When she was displeased with anything, Morgana would usually do what the Pendragons were most likely to do, pout. Of course, Morgana's pouts usually had the opposite reaction from Lance. Red lipstick, her emerald eyes blazing, it was a look begging to be kissed. Lance bit his lips, in an effort to stop himself from kissing his betrothed, because apparently, they were in the midst of a sort of disagreement. _

_ "The truth would have remained the same," Lance replied, just a touch worried that this could escalate to something where kisses would be denied to him. Or worse, still sleeping on the sofa at night. _

_ Morgana narrowed her eyes at him, but then realized that Lance was telling the truth. She turned back to the walking sticks, shaking her head. "Only Arthur has the propensity to get hurt in a game of indoor football." And she apparently was not done yet, because now she was made at the game. "Indoor football! You guys play football on an almost daily basis…"_

_ "Three maybe four times a week," Lance pointed out, speaking softly. Which was true, since they each have to work as well. But he did not protest too much, he knew Morgana was dealing with Arthur getting hurt and the best thing to do was to let her finish whatever she wanted to say. _

_ "And on top of that, indoor football on weekends…"_

_ "Alternate weekends," Lance pointed again and this time, Morgana turned sharply to look at him, once again, her eyes narrowed at him. Lance feigned innocence (he was innocent) and shrugged. _

_ "And see what it does?" Morgana said, her question more rhetorical than for seeking answers from Lance. "You twisted your ankle last month..."_

_ "It was nothing. I was better in no time."_

_ Morgana scoffed, rolling her eyes at 'nothing'. "And in the summer, Gwaine hit his head and had to get stitches."_

_ Lance wanted to point out that Gwaine was proud of those stitches and showed them off whenever he could. And the story of how Gwaine got that injury was quite funny. Lance grinned as he remembered the incident and wanted to tell Morgana about it, but the look she gave him was enough to wipe the grin off his face and leave the story untold until some other time. _

_ "And now, Arthur's got a broken leg."_

_ "He fell awkwardly. And then two other players from the other team fell on him."_

_ "And that is supposed to make this alright?" Morgana's voice has taken a higher shrill, indicating that she was now more scared than worried._

_Lance turned to her and took her hands, turning her to face him. And sure enough, he saw her blinking away tears. She was biting her lower lips in an effort to curb its trembling, but a single tear fell, rendering her efforts futile. "Baby, it's alright. Arthur is fine," Lance said, gathering Morgana into his embrace. Morgana held him tight as she fought against the sobs that were building within her. "The doctor said he will be fine. You know this."_

"_Still does not make it right, Lance," Morgana said, her voice slightly muffled by his coat. "You guys are constantly getting hurt."_

"_That would be Merlin," Lance said, in an effort to lighten the situation. He understood that Morgana was worried. Seeing Arthur in the hospital had not been easy for Morgana, who had always regarded her brother as invincible. Arthur had always protected her and though Lance was now slowly taking over those duties, Morgana was Arthur's little sister first. And it was not easy for Morgana to see Arthur…broken. "The rest of us…our injuries are more sporadic."_

"_You have to be more careful," she told him, looking at him and something in her eyes implored him to do as she says. _

"_Don't worry, Morgana," Lance said, giving her quick kiss on her forehead. "We have you to take care of us." Morgana drew away from his embrace, smiling. It was a sad smile, but that was only understandable. She was still worried about Arthur, who had been allowed to leave the hospital this morning. _

"_No." Morgana's reply surprised Lance and it must have shown on his expression, for she was quick to reassure him. Her hand was still in his, so she gave it a squeeze. "I can't look after you guys all the time," she added. "You guys…the three of you, you guys have to look after each other."_

"_That's what we do," Lance told her, his voice quiet. _

"_Most of all you, darling," Morgana said, looking at Lance. "Try to keep those idiots safe."_

"_And me? Who's going to look after me?"_

"_Individually, they're hopeless, but collectively, they are alright." Morgana was grinning as she said this. "You'll be fine, love."_

"_Did you just diss my mates?" Lance said, feigning annoyance, his eyes narrowed at Morgana. _

_It was the first time that day Morgana's smile and laughter was genuine. And when Lance kissed her, it was as sweet as all her kisses had been. _

=X=X=X=

After being told to go home by Guinevere, Lance had returned from the hospital for the first time since Friday night. Arthur had hurt his knees, so, Lance knew his old walking stick would be useful for him when he is out of the hospital, for walking and to hit on Merlin and Gwaine should they deem to make fun of Arthur's condition. Arthur had loved using the walking stick the first time around, as much as Morgana had hated the reason for getting it for him in the first place.

His leg got better and Arthur had left the cane in Lance's flat, forgetting to take it back with him after coming over for dinner or something one evening. Morgana had kept the walking stick, complaining as she stored it in the storage space in their flat that any of them would be needing it one day, so she might as well keep it safe. Lance had laughed, dismissed his wife's fears and kissed her.

A lifetime ago.

Last night, after returning home and showering, he had fixed himself dinner consisting of a cup of coffee and a glass of Scotch (he could not stomach solid food just yet), and had them while standing in front of the door to the glorified broom cupboard that was his storage room. It took a while, but Lance managed to gather enough courage and strength to open the door and enter the room.

And the first thing that crossed his mind was the simultaneous thoughts that he should not have done this and that this was something that he should have done a long time ago. Because as the lights flickered to life, the first thing he saw what the dressmaker's at the corner of the room, draped with a white sheet over it. He caught a glimpse of plum coloured silk and felt his throat constricting. It was the last dress Morgana bought…an impulse buy (everything was either an impulse buy or an essential buy and Lance knew the definition was blurred most of the time) at a Parisian flea market on their last trip abroad. It was too long and a size too big for her, but it was a vintage piece and going very cheap. Most importantly, Morgana had liked it. She was supposed to alter the dress, but…

Lance stared at the skirt of the dress that brushed the floor, uncovered by the white sheet. He felt that he would not be able to do more than stand there but then Lance managed to tear his gaze from the doll and scanned the various shelves and boxes and packages in the room. The room was well organized; Morgana's could not abide by disorderliness. The walking stick was easy to find; it was hung on its hilt from a hat stand, the polished brass dragon's head looking rather out of place amongst pink umbrellas and outrageous fascinators and feather boas of all hues. Lance went to get it, determined that he would leave the room soon after.

Three hours later, the clock struck one and Lance was cross-legged on the floor, looking through the hundreds or so photographs taken at their wedding. He laughed on many occasions, the one with Uther dancing or trying to with a female relative was especially amusing. He got through the pictures with nothing more than the ever present deep ache in his being, the pain dulled somewhat by the fact that Morgana was smiling in all the pictures she was in.

By three in the morning, he was rummaging through more boxes, unable to stop himself. He was going further and further back; to the days they were in Tintagel. Morgana and Arthur the children of the Marquis, Gwaine their unruly but ultimately loyal cousin, Merlin, the son of a the proprietors of Tintagel's only art shop, acquainted to the Pendragons and their cousin since young through his uncle who was the village GP and close family friend to the Pendragons. And finally, Guinevere to complete their little group. So much happiness and he knows that it was not just for benefit of the photographs. They truly had been happy; broken limbs, romantic losses…nothing seemed to faze them, except maybe for the time Guinevere was in Rome. And every time she was back, it was the same laughter, same happiness. Nothing changed all those years.

He sat on the floor, next to a stack of boxes, marvelling at the amount of memories preserved; not just in photographs, but in all the knick-knacks, the t-shirts with the ridiculous slogans, stupid hats and so many other things, so lovingly and meticulously kept. He was thankful he came into the room. He had needed it. There was only so much strength he can display; he was expected to be strong and calm and in truth he too wanted to lash out the way Gwaine had. Or look and be as frightened as Merlin. Because he too had been afraid and he too had been angry.

But, being strong was expected of him and he could feel it draining him, physically and mentally. He can take care of his friends, he was sure of that.

But sometimes…sometimes he just wondered if he could keep on doing it forever, if he can be strong forever.

Lance realized that Sunday had dawned when pale sunlight streamed through the slits in the curtains, slivers of light bright against the white ceiling. He was lying on his back, on hand behind his head and another on his chest, his fingers curled around a stack of photographs he never remembered taking or being taken, surrounded by years and years of more memories, all of them happy. And all of them the fuel to strengthen him.

He got up, to start a new day, resolving that nothing would ever make him less strong for his friends. He looked around the room once again and this time, the plum – coloured dress on the dressmaker's doll did not make him sad. It was an indication of times when there had been boundless happiness in his life. The happiness was still there, he knew it was, and the thought of that gave him comfort…strength.

Lance left the room, closing the door behind him; the stack of photographs still in his hand, along with the walking stick that had been his main reason for going into the room in the first place. He smiled and put them on the kitchen table. Watching the sun rise over what promises to be a good day, he realized that the strength he had was the culmination of both his and Morgana's and from the bond between all of them. As long as it remained, Lance knew he could be strong.

He has to take flowers for Morgana and pick up Gwaine and Merlin to go to the hospital. He got ready in no time and when he opened the door, he was greeted by a white cake box on a kitchen stool. A thick card was folded and tented above the box, addressed to 'Mr du Lac'.

Lance looked at the door across the hall from him. He picked up the box and flicked the card open, using his forefinger and thumb.

_Can I have the kitchen stool back? Odd numbered furniture makes me uncomfortable. _

_-E-_

Lance knocked on the door of the flat opposite his, but there was no answer. The cake box was warm to the touch, so it must have been left recently. A quick look down the hallway yielded no results. Elena was long gone.

Lance smiled to himself. He took the kitchen stool into his flat and put it next to the other one, beside the door. The cake box contained scones, half a dozen of them. Lance smiled.

Later, he thought. He will return the furniture later. And then left the flat, walking stick in one hand and the cake box on the other. He smiled to himself and walked away, an uncharacteristic spring in his step.

=X=X=X=


	17. Chapter 17

After five days in the hospital, Arthur was allowed to leave and continue his recuperation at home. The staff, mostly female (and some male ones as well) were sorry to see him go. They had all become close in the time Arthur was in the ward; the night shift threw a party when Arthur announced he was engaged to Guinevere; they had Jell-O and drank fizzy drinks spiked with a dash of rum that Gwaine had smuggled in. Before he left, Arthur gave huge bouquets of flowers and a basket of gourmet food each to the medical staff who had taken such good care of him. The staff was sorry to see him go, as much as they were sorry to see the rest of them go. The nurses discussed wedding gowns with Guinevere, fussed over Merlin (too thin, too pale, and how endearing he looked with mismatched clothes), shared recipes with Lance and generally had a great time flirting with Gwaine. Many a game of chess and Snakes & Ladders were played in the five days Arthur and the gang were in the ward, phone numbers exchanged and when the lift doors closed on the gang, the female nurses were left secretly envious of Guinevere and admitting that their ward just a little less cheerful than it had been for the past five days.

Arthur returned to his flat on the second last day of December and Guinevere moved in with him on a semi-permanent basis to take care of him. She had wanted to give her two weeks' notice to her employers, but Arthur would not hear of it. So, Guinevere applied for whatever holidays she had left to take care of Arthur. Gwaine made the sofa his bed, whilst Lance returns to his flat only after everyone else was asleep. When Arthur told Gwaine to go home to his own bed and Lance to stop travelling so late at night, even though he lived not twenty minutes away, everyone agreed that since he was under medication, Arthur had no say in the matter of where Gwaine sleeps or what time Lance returns to his flat.

Three days after Arthur returned home, the guys were watching a movie. Since it was Gwaine's turn to pick, he chose 'Muppet Treasure Island'. Arthur had frowned upon the choice but in the end, he had enjoyed it as much as the rest of them had. It was good to laugh again, voluntarily, after so long of putting up pretences of being generally alright with having one of them injured and his knees done up in metal and spikes. Halfway through the movie, Kermit said something exceptionally funny and Arthur laughed until he jarred his delicate rib bones, his laugh faltering into a groan. The pain caused him to double over, slight panic ensued as the rest of them quickly surrounded Arthur's easy chair. When Arthur looked at, his face was pale and he was trembling slightly.

"I'm fine," he breathed, nodding. He repeated it again, as if saying it twice would convince him as well as the rest of them. Merlin, Lance and Gwaine returned to their seat, the concerned looks on their faces identical. They continued watching the movie, but it was clear from their expressions that the jokes and humour of the movie was lost on them. The boisterous group had turned silent, even the funniest jokes getting nothing more than a smile.

Guinevere sat on an armchair beside Arthur's, her hand in his. He was rubbing circles at the back of her hand, just below her thumb; his was of assuring her everything was fine. They were both were supposed to be watching the movie, but both were distracted; Arthur was getting drowsy from his medication while Guinevere's mind was firmly on the path she had set upon last Friday.

Whatever predicament Arthur was in was her fault.

The fact that he could not even laugh at the jokes of his favourite movie, such a small insignificant detail, but she had never hated herself more than she did at that moment.

The movie seemed to stretch on forever and by then, whatever jolly mood the rest of them had been in had dissipated. Gwaine was already asleep on the sofa, his feet on the armrest and an assortment of cushions over him. When Lance saw Gwaine asleep, he threw a quilt over him, Merlin removing the TV remote from his hand gently. Gwaine made protesting noises, but Merlin managed to get the remote without waking him up.

Guinevere glanced at Arthur and found that he too was asleep, albeit rather uncomfortably on the armchair. Guinevere disengaged her hand from Arthur's and stood up. Merlin and Lance were already on their feet and when Guinevere managed to wake Arthur up, they helped Arthur to his room. When they had settled Arthur on the bed, Lance and Merlin left Guinevere in the room with Arthur, Lance telling them that he was heading home for the night. They closed the door behind them as Guinevere helped Arthur out of his shirt.

"You're not going to take advantage of me, are you?" Arthur said his eyes half-closed, a cheeky smile on his lips.

"I would not dream of it," Guinevere said, smiling.

"I would not mind at all," Arthur her pulled her towards his and claimed her lips with his. She kissed him back, but gently drew away from him.

"Good night, my love," she said, whispering the words, touching her forehead to his.

"Night." Arthur managed, before he slowly lay back on his bed, wincing with every movement. Guinevere put his two pillows under his left leg and pulled his sheets over him, leaving the left leg uncovered. Arthur had his eyes closed, but instead of the usual peaceful way he looked when he slept (one of Guinevere's favourite things to do in the mornings-in the rare occasions she wakes before Arthur-is to watch him sleep), he looked rather intense. With his shirt off, Guinevere could see the full extent of the body slam he suffered when his car skidded and hit the tree. His whole left side, from his shoulders to the side of his calves were bruised; reddish – black at its worst and sickly yellow at places where it was subsiding. Arthur claimed it hardly hurt him, but then again, he also claimed that he ached all over that it was hard pinpointing where it originates from.

Arthur was asleep not long after he settled into bed, his hand that held Guinevere's going slack. Guinevere let go off his hand and put on his chest. She looked at him, blinking away tears, pushed away a stray lock of hair and kissed his forehead before she left his side. She shared the room with Arthur, sleeping on what was Arthur's side of the bed, to keep his leg from being jostled when Guinevere slept (naturally, her arguments about sleeping on the cot bed fell on deaf ears), but for the moment she was not sleepy. It was half past eleven, a little too early for her to turn in. She left the room, closing the door quietly behind her.

"Lance just left," Merlin said, as he cleared the coffee table of snacks, cups and glasses, residue from their movie-watching. When Guinevere moved towards him, to help him with the task, he waved her away. "I'll manage."

Guinevere nodded and went into the kitchen and filled a kettle with water. As she waited for the water to fill the kettle, her eyes fell on the hospital I.D bracelet. And out of nowhere, sudden grief descended upon her, breaking down the walls of denial and unleashing tears she had bravely fought against since last Friday.

Arthur is hurt; there is no two ways about it. He is healing, true enough, but he is in constant pain. Gwaine has not slept on a bed for almost a week; having slept on sofas in the hospital and in the flat. He wakes up most mornings on the floor. Lance leaves late at night, and probably has less than four hours of sleep every night. Merlin looks frightened most of the time and has not left the flat since Arthur returned.

As for Guinevere…she got engaged.

Arthur's accident has changed all their lives and not for the better. She was the cause of it all. They laughed about Arthur and his spontaneity but whatever happened to Arthur and the upheaval in their lives was not a laughing matter. The guys were happy that Arthur and Guinevere had gotten engaged; their love for Arthur and for Guinevere and for a happily ever after for Arthur and Guinevere has overshadowed the fact that all of them, in one or the other, have been affected by the accident. Guinevere did not know how long if she supposed to look at Arthur's bruises and pretend to not to see it. She did not know how long she could assure herself that the bruises and the injuries would heal. She was not even sure if she could ever let Arthur drive again.

Three years ago, a few months after she left for Rome, Arthur broke his leg during a football match. Guinevere was not told about this until she returned to London for the weekend to celebrate Merlin's birthday. Morgana and Lance had picked her up at the airport, but they did not tell her about Arthur. It was not until she was in Morgana's flat and Arthur limped as walked, using a walking stick, that she knew about it.

A sob escaped from Guinevere, which she tried to stifle with a hand to her mouth; she did not want anyone to hear her. But it was all she could do. The grief had been unleashed and unlike the time when she was at the hospital, this time, there were no fear of what was to happen. Because whatever nightmare she was in, it was unfolding right in front her eyes. And to have the guys dragged into the nightmare as well…

The kettle was overflowing, but Guinevere did not know what to do. She was looking at it, through her tears and just seeing the water flowing out. More sobs wracked her body and she felt like screaming; whatever the sadness within her, it was not just there, it hurt. It actually ached to carry so much grief…

A hand covered hers on the sink, while another reached out to close the tap. Guinevere did not have to look up to see that it was Merlin. Merlin drew Guinevere into his embrace, putting an arm around her. She sank unto him, unable to stop crying even when she wanted to. She was embarrassed, but the grief was just overwhelming. Merlin just let her cry, holding her close, stroking her head.

"…ruined everything…" Guinevere managed to say. "I am sorry."

"What?" Merlin was genuinely surprised. "Why are you sorry?"

"It's my fault, Merlin," Guinevere said, moving away from Merlin. She wiped away her tear, using her hand, before Merlin handed her tissue he drew out from the box on the counter behind him. "Everything is my fault."

"I see," Merlin said, nodding. He understood at once at what Guinevere was talking about. "That is…very impressive, actually."

Guinevere looked Merlin, frowning. She wondered if Merlin had heard her wrongly. She opened her mouth, not knowing what to say (she was unsure how to vocally repeat her guilt without serious harm to her mental self), but was interrupted by Merlin continuing with his explanation.

"I know you are feeling guilty, Guinevere," Merlin said, looking at Guinevere with half a smile on his lips. "But, I am impressed that you made it rain so heavily on Friday. And putting the dog on the road? Even better. The trees…"

Guinevere looked at Merlin, too stunned to speak. Merlin reached out for Guinevere's hand and took it into his, his hands warm.

"There should be no guilt, Guinevere," Merlin said, his voice soft and gentle and with a hint of a smile. "You were in Cardiff and Arthur wanted to be spontaneous and romantic. And in between the two of you, the weather, the dog, the tree…not a good combination for romance, is it?"

Guinevere felt her lips lifting in an involuntary smile.

"So, when these factors collide…"Merlin concluded, squeezing her hands. "I don't see any indication of why you should be guilty."

"As do I," Gwaine said, shuffling into the kitchen, his sleepy eyes squinting against the harsh kitchen light. "And I am a lawyer and I can spot guilt a mile away." Gwaine spoke in a casual manner, yawning.

Guinevere had to laugh as grief was slowly displaced with something else less painful, less stinging and less cold. "What are you doing awake?" she asked, whispering, not wanting to wake Arthur up.

"I sensed that a group hug was needed, so, here I am," Gwaine said, looking at Guinevere. "So, how about it?"

Guinevere felt tears pricking her eyes again. This time, it was not because of grief. This time it was more of a gratitude for having been blessed by good friends. She held out her arms and Merlin and Gwaine embraced her.

"It's never your fault," Gwaine told Guinevere, kissing the top of her head.

"And it never will be," Merlin said.

Guinevere was still far from fully reassured, but she did feel less bad than she had been the whole week. She thanked them; they gave her a kiss on each cheek before leaving her in the kitchen. Her intentions for a cup of tea forgotten, she left the kitchen as well, going into Arthur's room. She stood by the side of his bed, watching him sleep, one hand touching the hospital I.D bracelet on her other wrist. She found that she could smile. And she could feel sadness being dissipated by something she remembers as happiness. The wounds, she knew now, will heal.

She bent down, pushed a lock of hair away from his forehead and kissed him, feeling the warmth of skin on her lips. When she moved away from him, she felt something snag the hem of the blouse she was wearing. Looking down, she saw Arthur's hand clutching at the blouse. Guinevere closed her eyes, not wanting to cry anymore. Instead she pulled up a chair close to the side of the bed and watched Arthur sleep. And as the hours passed, she saw the intense expression on his face smoothing out to something more peaceful and content. It brought her peace as well, and soon she was asleep, curled up beside Arthur on the bed, the first night of fitful sleep she had in a week.

And never once, even as he slept, did Arthur let go of her hand. Nor she of his.

=X=X=X=


	18. Chapter 18

Merlin did not sleep the whole night. He just lay on his bed, fully dressed with the exception of his trainers and socks, looking at the ceiling, thinking. He could have painted; but whatever inspiration he had had all been sapped out by Arthur's accident. He has only been in the studio once after Arthur's accident, on the day Arthur came home from the hospital. Merlin had stood for almost twenty – minutes in front of the canvas and nothing…not even a hint of an idea. The canvas that faced him in his studio was white, the stark blankness seemingly mocking him. Painting was the only thing he knew to do and to do it well. And if he lost that…

Merlin decided that the loss of his artistic skill is one that did not need further thinking on his part. It is just a block, he decided, one that he will overcome. Besides, there is another thing that required his immediate attention.

Gwaine had not spoken him since the Friday Arthur was admitted to the hospital. They only spoke briefly in the café when Merlin went to meet him and after that, nothing at all. Well, it was not as if Gwaine was giving him the silent treatment or anything; Gwaine did answer whenever Merlin spoke to him directly but it was obvious that he was mad at Merlin. And since they had been too distracted with Arthur and his injuries, Merlin did not broach the subject with Gwaine. If the rest of them thought it was strange that Gwaine hardly spoke to Merlin, they did not show it; though Lance did frown at Gwaine and then at Merlin on several occasions.

It had gone on for far too long and Merlin thought it was time to confront Gwaine about it. And he had spent a sleepless night just thinking about what he was going to say to or ask Gwaine. By dawn, he had had everything he was going to say lined up in his mind, which of course, he could not remember the moment he left his room, as he heard Gwaine moving about in the flat, getting ready to leave for his house. Gwaine, since Arthur returned from the hospital, had been sleeping at the flat, leaving early in the morning to go back to his house and get ready for work. It was the reverse after work. Arthur did not like Gwaine troubling himself on his behalf, but Gwaine waved it away and said that he was around to give Guinevere a hand, which was true, but everyone knew that Gwaine, despite his laidback attitude, worried far too much when it came to any of them; more than what was good for him, sometimes.

"Gwaine?" Merlin called out, as he came out of his room and into the hallway that led him to the living room.

Gwaine, in the midst of putting on his T-shirt, turned to face Merlin. "What is it?" he asked, pulling down his T-shirt over his head, the decisive curtness in his voice no longer startling Merlin. Gwaine had been using the same icy tone towards him for the past week or so.

Merlin knows Gwaine was not much of a morning person. More so on Thursdays, which Gwaine believes solely exists to deny people the happiness of a weekend. And since this was Gwaine, who would not hurt Merlin with his words or deeds, Merlin plunged right into what he wanted to say.

"We…hardly talk nowadays," he said, looking at his friend.

"What do you call this then?" Gwaine looked amused, but it seemed more as if he was mocking Merlin rather than joking with him.

A prelude to an argument, Merlin thought. "This…this is not us."

Gwaine, who had been picking up his mobile and wallet from the side table near the sofa he had been sleeping on, paused momentarily before resuming what he was doing, all the while keeping his eyes averted from Merlin's.

"And what is us, Merlin?" It seemed more like a challenge than a question to Merlin and the defiant look in Gwaine's eyes was not helping matters.

Merlin did not like this new, unfriendly Gwaine. Gwaine has been known to lose his temper, but he is usually quick to recover. And not known to be…sulky…for days, as he had been exclusively towards Merlin.

As for the answer to Gwaine's question, Merlin could give him half a dozen answers, or more. Merlin and Gwaine were best mates. If Gwaine had not been so cold towards him, Merlin would not have to think twice to wake Gwaine up in the middle of the night…they could have watched a late night movie with the sound muted, making up their own ridiculous dialogues. Or maybe just sit in the studio and explain to Gwaine why van Gogh was Merlin's favourite. Or let Gwaine paint something because that was usually a lot of fun. Point is, it would not have been Merlin alone in his room, pretending to be asleep and Gwaine outside on the sofa if things between Gwaine and Merlin were normal.

And the only thing Merlin could say to Gwaine was, "You didn't even share your sandwich when we were at the hospital."

Gwaine looked at Merlin, the frown and the smile, a contrasting expression, indicating that Gwaine was quickly getting bored of this conversation. That was when Merlin realized that this was more than Gwaine being angry at Merlin for his 'disappearing act' on Friday evening. This was something more…

"I'm sorry," Merlin said, stepping closer to Gwaine, trying not to think how lonely he felt even with Gwaine standing there in front of him. "What I did was wrong. I shouldn't have…"

Gwaine held up a hand. "No, Merlin. Don't," he said, shaking his head. "There's nothing for you to apologize for."

The uncertainty in Gwaine's eyes, the resigned expression on his face, this was not Gwaine holding the truth back from Merlin. This was Gwaine…lying to Merlin. The realization was akin to a physical push away by Gwaine. There had been no secrets between them. Gwaine had always been forthcoming with Merlin and Merlin had always appreciated his honesty. If Gwaine was unhappy with something, or if he did not particularly like something Merlin or any of them did, he would tell them so, no beating around the bush. And Merlin had known Gwaine long enough to know when he is lying to any one of them. It is easy spot, seeing that it is usually something that causes much distress to Gwaine.

"Then why…" Merlin started.

"It's just me being…stupid, alright?" Gwaine said, looking at Merlin, a wan smile on his face. "Too many bullshit happening on one day, I guess I just snapped. I should not have…"

"No," Merlin was quick to interrupt Gwaine. He knew where this was headed to. Gwaine was feeling guilty, for hurting Merlin and he was going to apologize for it. "You're not allowed to apologize today. Maybe some other time."

The wan smile turned into a more agreeable and suitably cheerful grin. "What am I allowed to do then?" Gwaine asked.

Merlin's grin was probably mirroring Gwaine's. "A sandwich would be a good start."

"You're not going to let that go, are you?"

"No," Merlin was chuckling as he said this, but he knew how important that gesture was. Granted, it was a silly thing and sandwiches are hardly the basis of measuring the strength of one's friendship. But Merlin wanted things to be normal again. At least in his life. He wanted Gwaine to laugh with him, to frown at him when he did something wrong. He wanted…his friend back again.

Gwaine looked at Merlin, thoughtful. His thoughts seemed far away. And then slowly, he nodded. "Meet me for lunch?" Gwaine suggested.

Merlin's smile widened. "Sure," he replied. "I'll come over to your office."

"Alright. See you then," Gwaine said. A brief touch on Merlin's shoulder and Gwaine was out of the door, without even a look back. It seemed as if he was in a hurry to leave and Merlin tried to console himself by thinking that Gwaine was running late for work. It did not convince him by much.

But if Gwaine was convinced everything was normal between them, then Merlin was not going to argue about it. He was just glad to have his best friend back.

=X=X=X=


	19. Chapter 19

Arthur was having his breakfast in the living room, a tray prepared by Guinevere (eggs, toast, marmalade, fruits and juice and the television on to the world news). It was a very sweet and domestic thing for Guinevere to do; she had gone out for some groceries. It made Arthur feel all sorts of guilty; but the caveman side of him was enjoying the attention very much. As much as he had when Guinevere had been all jealous and possessive when a young nurse-Vivian- had given Arthur his sponge bath and giggled one time too many. Guinevere had talked to the staff nurse and the next day, Arthur's sponge bath was administered by a male nurse called Big Eddie, who was big and…burly and referred to Arthur in the third person. Arthur had been pissed for no more than five minutes when Big Eddie pointed out that Arthur's '_lady friend was not going to let some hussy touch her man again, so the patient had better be co-operative, lest he comes under the care of Tiny Mike. And the patient does not want to come under the care of Tiny Mike, believe me…" _

Arthur had not minded Big Eddie, but he did mind Merlin snapping pictures of him getting a sponge bath from Big Eddie. Arthur was now contemplating ways to destroy the pictures and if possible, because revenge is ever so sweet, destroy Merlin's mobile phone as well.

So, with thoughts of revenge and the wonderful feeling of being pampered, Arthur finished his breakfast, expecting it to be like any other day, as it had been yesterday and the day before that. Guinevere would be back shortly and he would help her peel potatoes or whatever as she prepared lunch. He could not do much but Arthur had promised Guinevere that once he is back on his feet, he will do the laundry and cook for Guinevere for one whole year. Guinevere had agreed and they had sealed the deal with a kiss…

His happy musings were interrupted by the sudden buzz of the intercom. Arthur frowned, setting aside his tray, as he reached for the crutches Guinevere had left by his armchair, just in case Arthur had to move. Merlin was not home, having left before Arthur was awake, so Arthur had to let whomever it was that wanted to visit him in by himself. He used the crutches to get to the hallway by the door where the intercom was; his journey not made any easier by the incessant buzzing. By the time he came to the intercom, he had half a mind to ask whomever it was outside to just go away. It must be someone he did not know, or an assistant from the office (Arthur had called the office for updates and an assistant told him that he will visit Arthur soon with all the latest news in the office). Guinevere, Gwaine, Lance and Merlin had copies of the keys, so they would not be buzzing the intercom; unless Merlin was looking to amuse himself, which was unlikely. His accident no longer made him a target for practical jokes or teasing.

Which is something Arthur was not that much appreciative of. He busted his knee and the rest of them treat him as if he was terminally ill…

Which makes sense. This was the first time any of them were in the hospital since…since Morgana.

Another round of buzzing dissolved whatever dark feelings that came along with the thought of Morgana and hospital. This time, the buzzing was almost welcome. Almost.

"Yes?" Arthur sounded more irritated than he felt.

"What took you so long?"

Arthur's heart almost stopped as he recognized the voice. Without much ado, he buzzed his caller in and stood hopping on one foot, wondering what to do next. There's the breakfast tray that needed to be cleared out…Arthur looked at his legs, saw the recently – changed bandages as well as the yet-to-be-removed spikes on his knees. He was hoping Uther Pendragon would understand that being invalided and moving about in crutches is an acceptable excuse to have breakfast in the living room.

Arthur hated being helpless, hated the fact that he is uncomfortable with his father visiting him, but there was nothing he could do about it; Uther was probably getting into the lift, and would be at the flat any moment. His father was not one for sentimentality, something that Arthur knew and had come to accept. This, (the whole not visiting him while he was at the hospital, save for two phone calls to Arthur and one to Lance to inquire about him) was what Arthur had come to expect from his father. Anything more than that and Arthur would have been surprised and perhaps might have just called the police to report that someone was imitating his father. Of course, Arthur knows that his father cares for him, a little too much for Arthur's comfort, truth to be told. But Uther had never seen it fit not to manifest his concern into something like sitting beside his bedridden son, talking about feelings. That would have been strange, not to mention more than slightly uncomfortable for both father and son.

If Arthur felt any emotions regarding the absence of his father when he was injured, he would say it was the strange pleasure of knowing that he shared his father's sentiment regarding his presence by Arthur's side.

It may be a little cold, but it was infinitely better than wondering if him being involved in an accident and getting injured had not been enough for Uther to come and visit Arthur.

Arthur opened the door the moment he heard his father's footsteps outside. He then moved aside, back into the living room, leaving his father to close the door behind him.

"Father," Arthur said, looking at Uther, his smile faint as he tried to gauge Uther's mood. Ten o'clock in the morning on the day before he was to leave for the States, Uther must have cancelled an appointment or two to visit him. Arthur was not sure if he should appreciate the gesture or be wary for any reprimands from his father. Either way, he just waited for his father to make the first move.

"The crutches…must be uncomfortable," Uther said, gesturing Arthur to his armchair.

"I'm alright," Arthur replied, but sat down at his armchair anyway. Uther nodded, as if satisfied with Arthur's answer. He took a seat on the sofa, undoing the button of his suit as he did so. He looked elsewhere as Arthur lowered himself gingerly back to his armchair.

"How are you, father?"

"How are you, Arthur?"

The question was asked simultaneously and the awkwardness that followed after would have been endearing if the two people involved were not male (acceptable) or Pendragons (absolutely unacceptable at any level). The silence that followed after the questions was even more awkward than it had been when the question was asked.

"I'm alright, father."

"I have been well."

Father and son almost sighed in relief when the awkwardness was averted. Arthur decided that he would just shut up and let his father control the conversation. Things should not be this uncomfortable between father and son, but this is something that was very common between the Pendragon patriarch and his son. This was…natural. Father and son had no idea of how to make small talk; Uther not having to do so in his life and Arthur just unable to think of anything to say to his father that did not involve serious decision-making.

Uther glanced at Arthur's knees. He could see the grim set of Uther's jaw and the cold, hard look in his eyes. Arthur also knows that his father knows all the details of his accident, as well the surgical procedures and whatever follow – ups he has to do. If there was something that Uther did not know, he would have probably asked Arthur about it.

"I am leaving for the States tomorrow," Uther said, looking at Arthur.

Arthur nodded because any of the answers he had ("_Yes, Father. I know_" or "_Really_?") sounded too indifferent and too eager respectively. Arthur listened intently as his father detailed his visit to the States; the various meetings he has lined up from coast-to-coast for duration of the month he was going to be there. Arthur wondered how many people balked when their meetings were scheduled so close to Christmas. He would love to know how many people would have cancelled the meetings; Uther Pendragon was not a man one dismisses nonchalantly. He was powerful and wealthy and could make or break someone's fortune. A meeting with him would be considered an early Christmas present for any discerning business man who wanted to make it in the defence industry.

"I won't be back until the New Year." Uther was only saying the things Arthur had already known.

"I'll see if I can go to the office…"

"No, that would not be necessary," Uther said, rising to his feet. When Arthur moved to get on his feet, Uther halted him with a mere gesture of his hand. "You need to focus on getting well again."

"I am well, Father," Arthur replied. It no longer surprised him that he was still seeking for Uther's approval; it was almost like second nature to Arthur. Especially when his father was in the room with him. He did not want to, and there were many times that he was able to overcome this compulsion; but Arthur would always measure himself against his father and despite all his personal achievements, he knew that he could never match up to Uther Pendragon.

Uther looked at Arthur, the steely gaze softening just a little. Uther could have easily challenged that statement by Arthur…but he did not. Perhaps his eminent departure to the States, or perhaps he just thought of giving his son a break; whatever it was, Uther held his peace. The first time Arthur broke his legs, three years in an indoor football match, Uther had given his son an earful, forbade him from playing football ever again and had an army of orthopaedic specialist to put his leg back in working order again. Arthur was glad that this time his father chose not to be so…hands-on. He did not want to argue with his father. If anything, Arthur wanted his father to let him be his son the way that Arthur could.

"Of course," Uther replied instead. "But we have Leon in charge and I think he is more than capable of handling anything in both our absence."

"Maybe I'll drop by, when the spikes are out…"

Uther did not reply to that. He came to stand by Arthur's armchair. He patted Arthur's shoulder. "Just work on getting well, son," Uther said, his voice gentle. "The company will take care of itself. And in the case of any emergencies, I can always return immediately."

His father's gentle tone did not mean that whatever he said was to be refuted. Arthur nodded, but he had already made up his mind he would be going to the office as soon as he could walk; the doctor's gave him two to three weeks until he could discard the crutches for a walking stick. "Yes, Father," he said, just for Uther's peace of mind.

"Good," Uther said. And did something absolutely unexpected. He bent down, kissed the top of Arthur's head, before bidding him a hasty goodbye. Arthur was too stunned to speak and could only nod when his father said he could show himself out. From the armchair, Arthur watched his father walk to the door and just before Uther opened the door, he turned to look at his son again. He nodded once and a ghost of a smile played on his lips. Arthur smiled back to his father; feeling a lump rise in his throat.

"Father?" Arthur called out, finding his voice again.

"Yes, Arthur?"

"I…I'll call you." It was a most stupid thing to say; Arthur cringed inwardly as the words left his mouth.

It was not what he really wanted to say. Arthur wanted to tell his father that he loved him.

"I'll call you too," Uther replied. Perhaps he understood what his son really wanted to tell him; for there was warmth in his eyes and in his smile. For that one moment, Arthur felt closer than he ever had to his father.

Across the city, in the shiny, sleek Pendragon Industries Headquarters, Leon Osmond, the man left in charge of the company while his boss was out of the country, was surprised to find an envelope on his desk when he walked in from a breakfast meeting. It was from the office of Uther Pendragon. He opened it and his eyes widened in disbelief. The content of the letter was incomprehensible.

Leon looked up from the letter. From the open door of his office, he could see the door on the other side of the foyer, opposite his. Two workers were replacing the existing sign on the door. They removed the old sign and one of them threw it nonchalantly into the bag of tools they had on the floor. Leon watched as they fitted a new sign on the door. The work took them not more than ten minutes.

When they moved away, Leon saw his name, matte gold emblazoned on shiny black, and his new position in the company.

The letter in his hand, the sign on the door…none of it made any sense.

Leon Osmond has been given a promotion. He will be the new Chief Executive Officer of Pendragon Industries, effective the first of January.

On the other side of the floor, an assistant was reading through a memo. She was to prepare a letter of termination for one of the staff. She gasped when she saw the name of the staff the letter was intended to.

Arthur Pendragon was to be terminated from his position as the Chief Executive Officer of Pendragon Industries, effective the first of January.

And documents were being prepared to be sent to Gwaine du Bois, solicitor for Arthur Pendragon, detailing the termination that Uther Pendragon has drawn up for his former employee; the severance payment, his place on the executive board and such.

And as these developments took place, Arthur was telling Guinevere how much he appreciated and loved his father for visiting him to say good bye. He was crying, but that was only because he was happy.

=X=X=X=

Next update will not take too long. Promise =)

And thank you all once again.


	20. Chapter 20

A short one this time, to know what you think of it before I post longer ones.

Thanks for all the reviews, alerts and favourites. They each make my day that much better.

* * *

><p>To : Lance<p>

From : Gwaine

**Mate, Merlin and I have been thinking. We should have a party for Arthur and Guinevere.**

To : Gwaine

From : Lance

**You and Merlin? Thinking? Since when? Should I be worried?**

To : Lance

From : Gwaine

**Haha. You're a regular comedian. So, party..? Yes? No?**

To : Gwaine

From : Lance

**Party…why not? When? Where?**

To : Lance

From : Gwaine

**You're not busy are you?**

To : Gwaine

From : Lance

**Why? Is the party now?**

To : Lance

From : Gwaine

**Do you know that you're impossible sometimes?**

To : Gwaine

From : Lance

**Of course.**

To : Lance

From : Gwaine

**I was inquiring if you are busy…in a meeting? Or shouting at someone? **

To : Gwaine

From : Lance

**I am looking at my sandwich in disdain as I proofread articles written in a drunken binge in order to meet the creative demands of journalism and the deadline. **

To : Lance

From : Gwaine

**Seriously, mate, the articles sounds like lots of fun. Merlin says hi. He insists that I tell you this.**

To : Gwaine

From : Lance

**Say hi back. So, party?**

To : Lance

From : Gwaine

**Say, on the 20****th****? My place? Christmas, engagement and Arthur-is-well party all in one.**

To : Gwaine

From : Lance

**Sounds good.**

To : Lance

From : Gwaine

**Merlin says he will handle everything.**

To : Gwaine

From : Lance

**Everything**?

To : Lance

From : Gwaine

**Everything**.

To : Gwaine

From : Lance

**Is that a good thing?**

From : Merlin

To : Lance

**Stop talking as if I'm not here. I can handle this.**

From : Gwaine

To : Merlin

**Stop reading over my shoulder, mate.**

From : Lance

To : Gwaine

**You guys are together?**

From : Merlin

To : Lance

**Gwaine is buying me lunch.**

From : Lance

To : Merlin

**Okay, Merlin. I have faith in you. If you need any help, just let me know.**

From : Gwaine

To : Merlin

**You can handle this, Merlin, yeah.**

To : Gwaine

From : Merlin

**Stop texting me. I'm sitting right next to you.**

From : Gwaine

To : Lance

**Talk to you later, mate.**

From : Lance

To : Gwaine

**Yeah**.

From : Gwaine

To : Merlin

**Sorry**.

Gwaine pocketed his mobile and looked at Merlin, who was just finishing with a text. He hit the SEND button and then put his mobile phone on the table. Gwaine picked it up and put it into Merlin's jacket, slung at the back of his chair; Merlin was capable of forgetting his phone when he leaves the table, as the rest of them had learnt from experience. They were sitting at their favourite café, across the road from Gwaine's office. Merlin had approved the menu and coffee served at the café three months ago when the franchise first opened. It quickly became a favourite haunt for the rest of them as well. That afternoon, Gwaine was treating Merlin to a peace offering in the form of a sandwich. Gwaine had a chicken salad that had been all sorts of wonderful tastes and flavours the last time he had ordered it, now amounting to cardboard-like texture and taste. He was not hungry, but he would sit for as long as it took for Merlin to finish his lunch. Gwaine would also allow Merlin to pick out the almonds and cucumbers in his salad, because that is what Merlin does. Gwaine was enjoying himself, forgetting that just twenty-four hours ago, he was struggling to ignore Merlin and the worried way Merlin kept looking at him as they watched the Muppets movie. The past ten days had probably been the longest Gwaine had held a grudge over Merlin.

It had not been worth it. Because at every moment, Gwaine had missed Merlin and had wanted to just go to him and apologize for…for over-reacting. But, with Arthur getting injured, everything had been…mucked up, to say the least and all emotions amalgamated until Gwaine was not sure how to separate one from the other. Seeing Merlin with Morgause…that had hurt deeply. Because they did not need an outsider in their midst, offering her sympathies, regardless if she was Arthur's stepsister. They had each other, that was enough. Morgause could never fit in, no matter how much Merlin wants her to.

It was the thought of Morgause that had kept the anger aflame in him.

But this morning, all it took was just the prelude to an apology and everything had been forgotten.

Sitting at the tiny table, sharing their lunch, planning the party for Arthur and Guinevere…it seemed like the events of the past week never happened. This was how they were supposed to be; talking, laughing, teasing each other, making fun of other people…just being themselves.

Just being happy...just the two of them.

Gwaine was reaching for his coffee when his mobile buzzed again. He wondered if it was Lance as reached into his suit pocket for it.

From : Merlin

To : Gwaine

**How's your sandwich? **

Gwaine was smiling before he even realized he was. Looking up, he saw Merlin looking at him, cheeky grin in place, eyes twinkling with mischief, taking a big bite of his vegetarian ham sandwich (a waste of a sandwich, if there ever was one, Gwaine had told Merlin when he ordered it).

"You're an idiot," Gwaine told Merlin.

Merlin grinned, his usual reaction to whenever Gwaine tells him that. He popped an almond into his mouth, his eyes twinkling with mischief.

And Gwaine, ignoring the lurch in his heart, as he had always done so, just smiled back. Because when he said Merlin was an idiot, those three words were neither meant to be critical nor complimentary.

It was just three words Gwaine had been using for so long to disguise another set of three words that he had always wanted to tell Merlin. Which he never could. Nor ever will.

=X=X=X=


	21. Chapter 21

A two chapter update. Real life had demanded more than from me than there are hours in a day and whatever resolve I had to typing more chapters had to, sadly, very, very sadly, take second place to its demands. I should be back the soonest I can.

As always, all reviews and alerts are much appreciated. Thank you. Thank you so very much.

* * *

><p>Their routine went on as usual, the fortnight after Arthur's hospitalization. Lance showing up at the flat after work, staying until the last person had gone to bed. The sofa was permanently Gwaine's; he does not allow anyone else to even sit on it. Arthur took it all in his stride until three days ago when he told Lance and Gwaine that he did not want to see them in his flat anymore. Guinevere and Merlin, sitting at the table where they were all having their dinner, looked at Arthur, their eyes wide, wondering if something had happened to Arthur.<p>

"This can't go on any longer," Arthur told, the flat deathly silent save for the ticking clock from the kitchen wall. "It's not healthy for the both of you," Arthur added, gesturing with his fork at Lance and Gwaine. "You go home so late at night that I worry about you until you call me in the morning. And you, Gwaine…that thing out there in the living room is a sofa. My sofa. Not a bed. You have a bed. A big one. Comfortable too, I imagine…"

"Arthur…" Lance was quite ready to protest that driving back late at night is quite safe in his neighbourhood, but Arthur held up his hand.

"Two weeks since my accident and Gwaine has not been on a date," Arthur pointed out. "I will never be forgiven for this transgression…"

The silence broke, Guinevere and Merlin laughing when they realize that this was more of a good natured intervention by Arthur than any real precursor to an argument.

"I could always bring them back here," Gwaine suggested, shrugging.

"I will repeatedly beat you with my crutches if you do," Arthur replied, his voice a matter of fact and expression equally serious. "No, this stops tonight. Lance, you'll leave once dinner is over. Take my car…the Rover. And you will drop Gwaine off at his place…or at a club or something. Somewhere where Gwaine can get a date. It's not too late, I think."

"Honestly, Princess, you don't feature at all in my act of kindness," Gwaine remarked, helping himself to another serving of the spaghetti Guinevere had prepared that evening. "I'm doing this for Guinevere."

"And I appreciate it, Gwaine," Guinevere said, smiling, as she put a hand on his shoulder. They were seated a round table; Guinevere between Arthur and Gwaine, Merlin and Lance on the other side of them both. She really did. "You too, Lance. Having you guys around helps a lot, but really, Arthur is getting better. And if you ask me, it's about time the both of you, and you too, Merlin, to concentrate on yourselves a bit. I know this is tiring for you and it makes me feel bad."

"But Arthur…he can be very difficult," Gwaine pointed out, looking disdainfully at Arthur.

Arthur scoffed, Guinevere's hand on his halting him from reaching for his crutches. "He is, yes," Guinevere said, smiling. She looked at Arthur, leaned forward to kiss his cheek and then turned to the rest of them. "But I assure you, he has been an absolute lamb. I can manage him." Arthur beamed, taking hold of Guinevere's hand in his, looking around the table, smug smile on his face. "Besides, Merlin will be here…"

"As will we…" Lance began, but then checked himself. "Every two days..."

"Or whenever you need us," Gwaine added.

"But mostly, at your homes, doing the things you're supposed to be doing, alright?" Guinevere asked, looking at Gwaine and then at Lance. The two of the looked at each other, none too happy with the decision, but each knew Guinevere and Arthur had a point. So, with much reluctance, Lance and Gwaine agreed.

"Well then," Arthur said, wiping his mouth with a napkin. He threw the napkin on his plate and took Guinevere's hand again. "I'm tired and I need Guinevere to tuck me to bed…"

Guinevere looked horrified while the rest of them grinned, having already figured out why Arthur was 'kicking' them out. While his concern for his friends maybe genuine and palpable, their presence was also cramping his own lifestyle a bit. Confined to the home, Arthur has limited choices when it comes to leisure and entertainment. And today, he has finally taken matters into his own hands.

"And since you guys are very concerned about Guinevere, I am sure you will clear the table, wash the dishes, whatever," Arthur said, standing up, with the help of his crutches and Guinevere. "Gwaine, Lance. Good night. See yourselves out. Merlin, I'm sure you have some drawing or colouring to do in your studio."

Arthur was jeered out of the kitchen, Guinevere following him, blushing profusely. "Good night, guys. And see you all not too soon," he called out, just before they heard the sound of his bedroom door being closed with much ceremony and sound.

As soon as they were certain the door was closed and Arthur or Guinevere would not be coming into the kitchen, Lance and Gwaine leaned towards Merlin and began asking him about the party. For every question posed, Merlin gave solid, logical responses, complete with written records. He showed them order forms and receipts for florists, a live classical band and even door gifts. Gwaine and Lance studied each paper, looked at each other and then looked at Merlin, scepticism very much evident on their faces. The plan was mooted five days ago and not once did Merlin call Lance or Gwaine regarding the party.

"Just so that the both of you know, I am struggling not to be offended with your lack of confidence in me," Merlin said, reaching for his glass of wine.

Gwaine was quick to reassure Merlin. "No, Merlin. We're just…we're just…"

"Surprised that you did so well," Lance continued for Gwaine. "You did a fine job, Merlin."

Merlin just smiled, twisting his fork around the remainder of his spaghetti. "Thank you," he said. "Now, all that's left is to finalize caterers and the guest list. I am thinking two hundred people…?"

"Sounds alright," Lance said, wiping his mouth on a napkin. He put his napkin down and looked at Gwaine, who nodded his agreement.

"I'll prepare a list and then run it by you guys in a day or two," Merlin told them, as he excused himself from the table. He put his plate and glass in the sink and turned to face Lance and Gwaine. "I'll add any guests you guys want to invite as well."

"My list would be the same as yours," Gwaine said, joining Merlin at the sink, his own plate going into the sink.

"I'll reserve a plus one for you," Merlin said, patting Gwaine's shoulder as he turned to the sink again, starting on the dishes. Lance added to the pile in the sink and stationed himself beside Merlin for rinsing duties. Gwaine picked up a tea towel and waited by the counter opposite the sink, for the drying and arranging part of the dishwashing. Merlin told them about dealing with over-ambitious florists and about the delicious but ultimately too small of a portion of the sample of food provided by the catering companies he has visited thus far and complained the lack of organic and vegetarian menus available. , Lance and Gwaine could not help balking at the mention of the word 'vegetarian' and 'organic', so he was quick to assure his friends that the menu he chooses would blow the minds of the carnivorous guests. The dishes done, they left the kitchen, Lance and Gwaine gathering their stuff, on their way to leave.

"Will you be alright?" Gwaine asked, slipping into his coat. He looked as worried as Lance was.

"Yes. This is my home." Merlin tried not to roll his eyes. "Honestly, you guys are worse than Mum."

"You could come over to my place…watch a movie?" Gwaine suggested, ignoring Merlin's last statement.

"I've got a painting to finish," Merlin said, which was true. He told them he finally found the inspiration to paint and was in the process of completing a three painting comission for an art gallery for their Christmas exhibition.

"I can wait…" Lance offered.

Merlin groaned. He pushed them towards the door. "Bye, guys," he said, opening the door and pointing out. "I will see you tomorrow. We'll meet at a pub or something. Now, if you don't mind, please go." he had already pushed them out of the door and with a smile, closed it.

"How about that?" Gwaine said, turning to Lance. "I say we break in and give him a piece of our mind."

"And I say pint over at The Goat and Boar," Lance suggested, walking away from Arthur's flat, towards the lift.

"Are you buying?" Gwaine asked, falling in step beside his friend. When Lance nodded, Gwaine asked, "Should I be worried?" He was frowning, but laughter was evident in his eyes.

"You know what, I'll just drop you off at your home," Lance said, as they waited for the lift.

"I'll take the pint, thank you," Gwaine laughed.

"Good choice," Lance said, smiling.

They spent a good hour and half at the pub, talking about the party (both of them amazed at Merlin's apparent adeptness at organizing it) and a bit of football. A few women in the pub showed some interest in them, but the guys kept to themselves; Lance by not noticing them and Gwaine by choice. They finished their drinks and Lance drove Gwaine home; Gwaine joking that his butler may not let him in because he was not expected to be home. Lance then drove back to his flat, taking his time, driving as slowly as he could as the roads were iced over. When he reached this building, he parked Arthur's car in the basement, next to Morgana's Mini (rarely used, except for the occasional drive to work) and his own Harley (rarely used as well, because he has come to the conclusion that there will be no one else who appreciates him in his leather jacket the way Morgana had). He made his way to his flat, taking the stairs to the first three floors before taking the lift up the next three. He tried not to think of how lonely he would be and how big his flat would seem when he switched on the lights. He loved returning to his flat, but the silence and loneliness did not make good companions for him.

And yet, he could not think of not returning to his flat every night. It was only difficult for as long as he was awake. Once he fell asleep, everything was alright again. He does not dream anymore, for which he is thankful, just so that he could wake up and not think that he could only remember Morgana from his dreams.

With his thoughts fully occupied with Morgana and loneliness, Lance was running on automatic mode. It was better to let his thoughts run their course, suppressing while he was on his own was like putting up tents in gale force winds; it was an ultimately futile attempt. Lately, his thoughts have not been so punishing; it was just a replay of fond memories, more like a crutch to help him along.

He reached his flat, fished out his keys from his pockets and unlocked the door. Once he was inside, he switched on the lights and locked the door again. He shrugged out of his coat and hung it on the hook at the back of the door. As he made his way to the living room, throwing the keys into a bowl on a side table by the sofa, his eyes fell on the pair of kitchen stool at the end of the hallway leading to the front door.

Lance winced as he remembered he was supposed to give the stools back long ago. He looked at it momentarily, making up his mind to return it in the morning. He did not know if Elena still lived in Dr Watson's flat. Nor did he know her work schedule or what she left for work or…anything really. He did not know a thing about her, save for the fact that she baked the most delicious scones he has ever had.

For all he knew, she could be a criminal.

He was too tired to argue with himself about that. He decided to put that argument to rest tomorrow, when he returns the kitchen stools to her.

And maybe, to repay her for the cookies and scones, he could get her a cake or something.

That was the end of any thoughts of Elena. Lance fell asleep, looking at the picture of Morgana in her wedding dress, framed up over the chest of drawers in the room, smiling at the camera just before she threw the bridal bouquet at their wedding.

=X=X=X=


	22. Chapter 22

Five days to party…

Merlin was studying the menu in front of him; a pencil in his hand, a notepad below it. He would be getting a copy of the menu, but he decided that he was not going to take any chances, thus the notepad. It was a small detail, but, with the level of scepticism shown by his friends when he volunteered to organize the party, Merlin was not taking any chances.

Besides, Morgana always had a pencil and a notepad with her when she planned their parties and no one had ever complained about it, or the parties.

There would not have been a party, Christmas or otherwise, this year for them because…simply because none of them had been in the mood for one. Morgana had organized everything and none of them felt compelled to step up and fill that role. And then Arthur getting into an accident sort of killed off whatever small idea any of them might have had for a party.

It was Morgause who suggested they have a party.

On the afternoon when Merlin had been waiting for Gwaine to return to his office from the courthouse, he had gotten a text from Morgause.

**Arthur Guinevere engaged. When's the party?**

As absurd as the idea of a party had seemed at that moment, slowly it began to make sense. Why should they not have a party? Yes, they had been through the worst time in their lives, but, there was a happiness now and Merlin wondered why they should not celebrate that.

**Will let you know. Soon. **

So, that was when Merlin, the moment Gwaine walked into his office, told him that they should have a Christmas-engagement-Arthur-is-well party. Gwaine had agreed immediately and here Merlin was, poring over menus, having a good time, despite missing Morgana most terribly. This was the fourth caterer in as many days and Merlin has yet to find a caterer that provided a satisfactory organic vegetarian dishes alongside the usual carnivorous fare. Of course, he has told the Gwaine and Lance that he has dealt with the caterers…he has dealt with it…sort of. He has narrowed down his dealing to two caterers, if one wishes to be technical about it. And with things like food; it is never a good idea to rush into it. At least, that is what Morgana had always done. And that is what Morgause had been advocating since they started planning the party.

Merlin roped in Morgause when he realized that there many other details to party planning than just deciding on the menu. He had always been Morgana's assistant, which was nothing more than going with her to places and holding her handbag when she was occupied with dealing with the florists and caterers. Sometimes, his opinion would be asked, but only very rarely; as Morgana knows what they all liked. Merlin had enjoyed every moment of helping Morgana and now wished he had paid more attention to what she did than to the complimentary wines and hors de oeuvres they were served. Most staff at the places Merlin went initially recognized Merlin and offered help in any way they could, which turned out be quite disastrous because it seemed to Merlin that he was bending to their will rather than them listening to what he wanted. He tried talking to them about it, but they gave him crap reasons like 'package' and 'seasonal' and that had quickly put him off. Until he went to a florist that was a street away from the bank where Morgause worked. He waited until lunch and then texted her …and she has been…well, he has been her assistant ever since then.

Merlin looked up from the menu he was studying and saw Morgause looking at him, one slender finger tracing the rim of her half empty wine glass. She was in her work clothes, power suit with the jacket off since it was after office hours. They had come to the caterer's office forty – five minutes ago and she seemed more relaxed than Merlin was. They were the only customers in the mock banquet room adjoining the office; the hall was set with twelve to fifteen different round tables, each with a different theme and décor, decked out in the finest linen, silver and centrepieces; far more opulence than Merlin could stomach and he wondered how long it would take before he breaks something in here.

"Well?" she asked, smiling, her blue eyes vivid against contrast of her golden hair and pale skin. Merlin was surprised he noticed this, as surprised as he was at realizing that he was actually seated opposite a very beautiful woman. The thought of it stunned all thoughts of tapenades and arguments of having white roses instead of red (his mind had a mind of its own when it came to party planning, Merlin certainly would not be worrying about tapenades on a normal day) and his artist's mind took over, curious about the exact shade of her eyes. It was difficult to say in the light of the mock banquet hall, the light was…yellowish…to flatter the tables and the decorations in the hall.

Morgause's eyes, however, were a shade of icy grey and the blue of the ocean at twilight…

Merlin was suddenly overwhelmed. Party planning was officially over for him. Colours were bursting in his minds' eyes, all shades of blue that were pale in comparison with what he was seeing in front of him.

"I have to go," Merlin said, standing up, stuffing the pencil and notebook into the backpack he carried (which had successfully survived boisterous friends and holidays around the world). He rummaged around a bit and found his cheque book. He gave her the cheque book and said something along the lines of choosing a suitable menu for the party and that he trusts her to make a good choice. At least that was what he thought he said; his mind was now too full of colours and brush strokes and he could practically smell the fumes of his water colour. He needed to get to his studio…he needed to paint.

Morgause stood up with Merlin, looking very surprised. She tried to say something, may have said something, but Merlin did not hear it. He leaned forward, kissed her cheek and it was only as he was taking a step away from her that he noticed her hand holding on to his arm. But, he had not time for all that, he needed to paint.

He swung his backpack to his shoulder, knocking a fork and a glass to the carpeted floor. Nothing broke, until Merlin's feet, clad in heavy work boots stepped on it. He paused momentarily, saw Morgause close her eyes as the glass crunched underneath his boots.

"I'll take care of it," Morgause told him, nodding, looking quite more amused than surprised now.

"Yeah," Merlin said and left the banquet hall, weaving his way more carefully now through the maze of tables. When he reached the door, he glanced behind and saw that the manager of the company was already with Morgause. She did not see him, and Merlin was not sure if he frowned because she was not looking at him, or because she was smiling at the manager. He opened the door and stepped out into the chilly evening, pulling his coat closer to him. He hailed a cab and got in, but not before looking back one last time at the caterer's office, seeing Morgause through the glass walls. She was listening intently to whatever the manager had to say. Just as the cab was pulling away from the side of the road, Morgause suddenly she looked up, her eyes locked on to Merlin's.

It took him three tries. By the third try, just as the sun was peeking through the curtains of his studio, Merlin finally found the exact shade of blue that inspired his latest painting.

=X=X=X=


	23. Chapter 23

The Muses have to compete with real life and for once, real life seems to be getting the upper hand. In retaliation, the Muses have stopped…musing. Which I hope is only temporary.

Thank you so much for all the feedbacks for chapters past. Each comments and views are important for the subtle changes and tweaks in the story. So thank you for the inspiration and for making my day.

And this chapter…well, let me know, yes?

* * *

><p>Two pink lines.<p>

Heart beat erratic; too fast and what felt like sporadic halts...which she knew to be ridiculous because if her heart stopped, she knew she would be dead.

And yet as she stared at the two pink lines, it was all that she was aware of, the rhythm of her heartbeat reverberating in the silence around her.

What it meant…

Supposed the accelerated heart beat meant she was excited. While the halt…more like a lurch…was…

She frowned, one hand on her hip and another pushing back her curls from her eyes. The pregnancy test kit was on the sink, the pink lines stark against the whiteness of the kit and the porcelain it was on.

This was an indication of something momentous and she wondered how she could even contemplate what had happened to her as something unexciting…something that was bad.

Her gaze went from the pink lines to the mirror in front of her. Her hand on her hips remained, while the other was now on her belly.

She knows she already loves the life now growing in her. The mere of thought of not was unthinkable for her, the worst blasphemy she could have thought of.

Her vision blurred involuntarily, tears pricking her eyes. She knew her tears were that of joy, it was not until she saw the two pink lines that she knew she had always wanted this.

Perhaps it is too soon, even if she had loved Arthur all her life…

And they have only been together for less than four months. As much as she loved Arthur and as much as Arthur loved her, they had never discussed children before.

Maybe the pink lines were wrong…

The thought, she knew was just her own mind reacting to the thought that maybe…just maybe Arthur would not…

Guinevere shook her head, dismissing such an idea from her mind. Arthur was a loving, kind man…

Even so, she could not even begin to imagine what he was going to say.

Or what she was going to say to him.

There was only one thing for her to do.

Guinevere discarded the test kit into the bin under sink, washed her hands, splashed water on her face and straightened up, a towel to her face. She looked into the eyes of the woman staring at her from the mirror. The woman is happy; the woman knows, and not from the pink lines from a home pregnancy test kit, that is she with a child. And she loves the child because it is hers and the man she loved more than anything and anyone in her life. It is because she loved him so that she is now with his child.

She left the bathroom and went into their bedroom. She knew Arthur was in the living room. Taking a deep breath, she went out of the bedroom. Arthur was standing at the hallway leading to the door, studying a letter in his hand. He was leaning on his walking stick, the one with the brass dragon's head Lance had brought over for him. The external screws in his knees had been taken out three days ago; Arthur is to go for weekly physical therapy for another three months, until his knee is fully healed. The guys had been relieved and Gwaine had suggested dinner at his house; a real formal, dressing-up sort of dinner to celebrate. Arthur had wanted a meal at his favourite pub in Tintagel, but Merlin and Lance managed to convince Arthur that he needs a good old-fashioned seven course dinner with the best wine, port and cigar afterwards. Arthur was sold at the cigar, though he (or the other guys) never smoked.

"Arthur?" She called his name, standing at the door of their bedroom.

"Guinevere." Arthur smiled as he looked up from the letter. He folded letter, putting it in on the side table in the hallway before holding a hand out for her.

Guinevere approached him, her heart in her throat. What she had to tell him would change their lives forever. She wondered if it would be a change Arthur would welcome.

She was standing before him, an arm's length away, looking at him. Maybe she was channelling what she was feeling, but she could not help thinking that Arthur looked a bit…withdrawn. He was smiling, but his smile did not quite reach his eyes; there was something else…

"You have something to tell me?" he asked her and Guinevere looked at the man she loved, wanting to ask the same question to him. But as much as she wanted to, Guinevere decided what she had to tell him was potentially life-changing for the both of them, so she might as well tell him first.

"I…um…"

Of course, she could tell him…if she could find the words to form proper words to tell him. Arthur looked at her, a slight frown on his face.

"Arthur, I…"

The door flung open and Gwaine stormed in. He was holding a white folder in his hand, livid and with a disposition as cheerful as a looming thunderstorm. Arthur drew away from Guinevere and looked at Gwaine. From the expression on his face, Guinevere knew that whatever Gwaine had in the folder he was holding, its content was similar to the letter Arthur had read.

"Did you get this?" Gwaine demanded, almost shouting at Arthur. He came to stand opposite Arthur in the living room.

"Yes." Arthur's voice was quiet, calm.

"What the hell is he thinking?" Gwaine was shouting; his whole demeanour the exact opposite of Arthur's. "The bloody…"

"Careful." It was said in a most nonchalant manner that anyone but Gwaine and Guinevere would have taken it as a casual remark or something. But there was iron in the word, ice in his eyes, a warning for Gwaine not to continue in the same vein he was

Gwaine took the hint, something that Guinevere was grateful for. But whatever it was that was in the folder, it was a source of unending distress for Gwaine. He gritted his teeth, because whatever it was that was had made him lose his temper, he was not going to risk an argument with Arthur over it.

"What's going on?" Guinevere felt compelled to ask. She looked at Gwaine and then at Arthur.

"Nothing," Arthur replied. Unlike Gwaine, who looked at her, Arthur did not. He was looking at Gwaine, his gaze keeping Gwaine quiet for the time being.

Guinevere looked at Arthur, surprised. The abruptness of his reply, the way he kept his gaze averted from her...this was something new in their relationship. Even before they got together, Arthur had never been secretive towards Guinevere, save for the fact that he was madly in love with her. Once they were together, they had been no secrets from each other…

Except now, apparently.

Guinevere had one. It was mostly not a secret, because Guinevere was going to tell Arthur anyway. But whatever Arthur and Gwaine knew, it seemed to Guinevere that Arthur did not want Guinevere to be in the know.

"Is it so…fu…bloody trivial to you?" Gwaine asked, going into autocorrect mode because Guinevere was with them. "Nothing? You call this nothing?" Gwaine gestured with the file he was holding. "Arthur, this is…"

Arthur looked as if he was going to argue with Gwaine. Guinevere took a tentative step forward and put a hand on Arthur's arm. She did not really know what she meant with the touch; she was not sure if she was assuring him that she would be alright without knowing what it was that had set Gwaine and Arthur (in a decidedly less dramatic manner than Gwaine) off. Or if she was offering her support to him; assuring him she will help to bear whatever burden Arthur shouldered.

Arthur closed his eyes, hanging his head in what seemed like a concession to defeat. He took a breath and turned, looking at Guinevere. His expression was unreadable and that served very little to alleviate Guinevere's apprehension.

"I have been…I have been given a notice of termination," Arthur said, his voice quiet.

Guinevere could swear that she heard wrongly. It was impossible. Notice of termination…for Arthur Pendragon?

"No." it was the only thing she managed to articulate.

"Yeah, I think there must be a mistake or something…" Arthur began, but Gwaine interrupted.

"Fu…fluck. There's no mistake. Your Dad sacked you. Leon is now CEO. Your place in the company board will come under review in the new year."

"What?" Guinevere said, her hand on Arthur's arm. "What…"

Arthur looked as if he was thinking of something to say but apparently he could not think of anything that could convince her. Or himself. He just shook his head.

"We'll contest this," Gwaine said, putting the folder in the coffee table. When Arthur looked set to protest, Gwaine cut him off before he could speak. "We will contest this. Your father has a lot to answer for. After all you did for the company…"

At that moment, Arthur's eyes locked on to Guinevere's. And Guinevere knew why Arthur would be reluctant to contest his father. She knew then that Arthur knew exactly why he was sacked from the company. He knew it and he did not want to discuss about it.

Gwaine went on detailing about what he was going to do and how sorry Uther Pendragon and his bunch of corporate lawyers (bloodsuckers was the word he used, the worst he could use seeing that Guinevere was there). Neither Arthur nor Guinevere heard him. Arthur looked at Guinevere, a small smile on his face, reaching for her hand on his arm. He took it into hers and gave it a squeeze; she supposed it was his way of assuring her that everything will be fine.

It hardly assured her anything. Because at that moment, Guinevere knew she had come between father and son. She had come between Arthur and his job. She had come between a man and his fortune, his birthright even. And when Arthur took her hand into his, she knew he had made a mistake.

He should never choose her over his father. Or his job. Or his birthright and fortune. She was just a woman. And Arthur was making a big mistake disregarding everything else, all that he is, for her.

She smiled to Arthur and excused herself to the kitchen, under the guise of getting Gwaine and Arthur some coffee. Arthur released her hand and went to calm Gwaine, who refused to be calmed and looked as if nothing but an all –out battle at the court room would make him happy. Guinevere walked into the kitchen.

In her mind's eye, as she stood by the counter, the pink lines faded, replaced by letters and words. Letters and words that have prompted Arthur to make the worst decision of his life. Her child mattered to her, as much as she knew it would matter to Arthur…but…no…

All she could think of was Arthur losing more than he was gaining. Guinevere was not going to stand by and let Arthur make the wrong decision; choosing her over everything else.

The pink line faded completely. Her heartbeat lurched, protesting; her throat constricted, a single tear falling down her face. And she did not know who she hated more at that moment; herself or Uther Pendragon. Both person who are responsible for denying Arthur complete happiness.

=X=X=X=


	24. Chapter 24

**It's been a painful week. Thankfully, I had this typed up before a multitude of illness beset upon me, thus enabling this week's update.**

**Thank you very much, each and every one of you, for allowing me to tell this story. This is also a shout-out to Victoria, Hills, LoveCanConquerAll, Hans, Mills and Hanzi…who sent in reviews, but I was unable to send replies to.**

**This chapter is all Elena. Yeah, I kind of like her.  
><strong>

**Reviews makes meds easier to swallow =)**

* * *

><p>When she was younger, Elena grew up with the notion that December was the best of all the months. And snow made everything extra special. Elena loved snow; loved to see it fall, loved to see it on cars and people and buildings and trees. She loved the chill brought on by the snow. A child growing up in a foster home, snow was a delight to her; she remembers it bringing out warmth to her surroundings. Snow meant snowball fights in the yard outside, tumbling over each other, reckless and secretly hoping to be caught by crunchy, cold missiles. Later, it meant huddling around the fireplace with her six foster siblings, jostling for the thick quilt, hands warmed by large mugs of hot chocolate and scaring the younger children with ghost stories aided by the wind rattling far away windows and creaking door hinges.<p>

She barely had anything those days and yet she found herself having more then than she did now.

Winter in the north had always been lovely. In London, however, winter seems to bring forth more misery than happiness. When she first came here (six years ago when she was eighteen), her first impression was that the snow was slightly less white than it had been from where she had come from. And with no one to share hot chocolate with, snow became…bleak.

It was with the awful bleak thoughts that Elena trudged home from work. Dr Watson's clinic was taken over by Dr Sarah Stark on a locum basis. It had been swarming with the best the season had to offer; two drunken brawls resulting in various injuries, yet still showed no sign of abating despite both parties being heavily bandaged, an infected ear piercing (necrotic tissues that have gone worse from denial by the patient that something had gone bad in her quest for rebellion). And of course, no evening would be complete without someone throwing up on her. This time it was an old man. The poor thing had food poisoning. Still didn't make it already though.

When her shift came to an end, Elena almost cried, thankful that she had survived another night. Walking home in the early morning chill of the winter, with the sun just breaking out through the wintry clouds, shining bright on what will be a pleasant day, she wondered if whimsical thoughts alone would be enough to muster enough energy and enthusiasm for another evening shift at the clinic. She loved being a nurse; it was what she was studying to be as well. She would like to think that being a nurse defined her. Her current melancholic mood had nothing to do with her job and its hazards.

It had everything to do with December and she being all by her lonesome self.

Elena does not remember her parents; she was brought up elderly aunts when her parents died in a car accident shortly before her third birthday. And when she was six, she was sent to a foster home, run by a friend of her aunts from church. She never begrudged them for sending her to the foster home; it was the best decision they could have taken on her behalf. Her aunts had both been old; they had been her mother's aunt. They had the foresight to realize that not only they lacked the financial means to support their grand-niece, they also were nearing seventy, not the sort of companion a six year old would need. Elena does not remember much details about her life with her aunts, but she remembers moving to the Simms and being welcomed into a tiny living room filled with six other children, whom for the next twelve years, would be her siblings, her friends, her entire world.

Hers had not been an Oliver Twist-like story, far from it. Mr and Mrs Simms, without children of their own but with enough means and affection to care for the children they had taken on, nurtured a warm and loving environment. The only thing not normal had been the children leaving the home when they reached eighteen (a stipulation of the law and not of the Simms') and getting another 'sibling' in return. Elena left when she was eighteen as well; coming to London to look for a job, squatting temporarily with a 'sibling' who had come to the City a few years before her. She had returned to Mr and Mrs Simms' every Christmas until she was twenty – two when Mrs Simms died and Mr Simms decided to move to Dartmoor to spend the remainder of his life with his widowed brother. After that, the past two Christmases had been Elena and Doctor Who specials on her portable TV in the hostel she had been staying.

This Christmas, there will be a difference. It would be Elena and the Doctor Who special on the fifty-inch plasma TV in a flat that she was looking after for her employer.

Elena sighed, turning into her street. Dr Watson would return in another five weeks. He had been extremely generous and with the money she had saved up from her wages as well, she might just be able to afford to rent a small flat in the city. She supposed she should start looking for a flat soon...but she decided it could wait…until the day after tomorrow. Or next week. Today…today she had no more to give for anything or anyone.

She arrived at the building, feeling even worse than she had felt when she left the clinic. As posh and lovely as the flat was, it was not her home.

And she hated geraniums. If she had kept a balcony garden, she would have grown herbs.

Maybe in her new flat…

The thought did manage to lift her mood up somewhat. She entered the building, ignored by the people in the lobby; house-sitters do not warrant greetings or a smile. Especially not before nine in the morning. She made her way across the vast lobby as quickly as she could; all she wanted was her bed and her quilt, never mind if her bed was a futon in the spare bedroom. The lift, when it opened, was thankfully empty, so Elena was spared of faking a smile to anyone who might have been in there.

She stepped out of the lift when it opened at her floor, the ride up much too fast for her liking. It had gone progressively colder; her walk from the clinic hardly did anything to warm her. She wondered how she would feel having scones baking in the oven, but over-ruled it; it would take too much effort and energy that she did not really have. At any other time, the end result of having a large mug of tea with one, two or three blueberry scones would have prevailed against lethargy, but that morning…it seemed rather pathetic to her that she would need baked goods to make her happy.

She sighed, turning into her hallway, fervently wishing she was somewhere else. Her childhood home was very much at the top of her mind, her foster siblings more so. She also wished wherever she could be, it would be snowing. Pure white, crunchy cold snow.

Her hand was in her tote seeking for her keys, her mind filled with thoughts of snow and hot chocolate, when she glanced up. Her steps faltered, her jaw going slack in surprise.

Sitting on one of the kitchen stools, which had been sorely missed in her kitchen, was Lance du Lac. He was half-sitting, half-leaning at the kitchen stool, his legs stretched out in front of him, hands crossed over his chest, his gaze on the floor. He had not noticed Elena yet. Not that Elena did much to announce her presence; she kept opening and closing her mouth, words failing her. And the way her heart was beating, she did not know if she was excited or scared.

Quite possibly a combination of both, with more fear than excitement.

She had nothing to fear from Lance du Lac, she knew that, but this was the first time she is seeing him since he 'helped' her with the front door of her flat. She had been too...harried with her predicament of her first day as a house-sitter that she only realized the guy helping her was the sort of handsome she never knew was possible outside of magazines and advertisements. Yes, it was all very...schoolgirl-like of her, but his good looks were undeniable. As were his good deed for her that day.

The thought of good deeds reminded her of good manner and she finally found her voice. "Mr du Lac?" she spoke and hoped whatever she said did not sound like the squeak she had heard. She looked at him, swallowing and feeling nothing but cotton in her mouth and butterflies in her stomach. It should be a crime, she supposed, for one to look good at such an early hour of the morning; the white-shirt, stonewashed jeans, trainers and leather jackets he wore looked as if it were thrown together with hardly any thought. It most probably was; the man was blessed with the sort of good looks that was…effortless. Elena became aware of her three-year old sheepskin jacket, pink scrubs and her frightful hair tamed down by pins and prayers.

Lance looked up and when he saw Elena, he smiled and straightened up, standing in front of her.

She noticed two things about him then.

That while he might not be that much taller than her, she still had to look up a bit to see him properly.

And that he had a very nice smile. Warm and friendly.

"The only Mr du Lac I know is my grandfather and he is in France," Lance said. "I'm just Lance."

"Just Lance it is then," Elena replied, cringing inwardly for a lame reply.

"I'm returning your furniture," Lance said, gesturing at the kitchen stool. He shifted his weight from one foot to another, stuffing his hands into the picket of his jacket.

"Thank you," Elena said, her brain refusing to remember any of the quips she had lined up for the occasion. She had a lot of time to think about it and some of her remarks had really been quite funny. A pity she could not recall any of them at the moment she needed them the most.

"Sorry it took a while," Lance continued. He looked at her only briefly, choosing to look at the kitchen stools, the front door or the wall mounted lamps in the hallway. "A lot of things happened."

"Well, as long as the furniture are reunited for Christmas," Elena replied, with a smile. Lance looked at her, the slight frown and the smile on his face an incongruous emotion that she could not figure out. Once again though, she was cringing. All the things she said, it sounded awful. It sounded far from amusing, bordering on immaturity.

She wondered why she was trying so hard…

"Um…thank you for the cookies," Lance spoke, one hand out the pocket, a finger rubbing the edge of his right eyebrow.

"My pleasure." Elena decided to keep it simple this time.

"And for the scones."

"Don't mention it," she replied. "I was particularly inspired that day."

The frown dissipated and he smiled, a genuine smile, no uncertainty behind it. "Well, I hope you frequently get inspired. Your cookies and scones are delicious."

Elena stared at Lance; anyone looking at her would see a picture of outward calm. Inside her mind, however, her thoughts were racing and she could swear that somewhere at the back of her mind, she was screaming in a very girly way. She had no idea why she should be screaming. It was as much of a mystery to her as she wondered if Lance was flirting with her. Elena did not have much experience interacting with guys and she would not know flirting if it was staring at her face.

Within five seconds of the thought of Lance flirting with her entered her mind, plenty of voices in her mind (all in her own voice) rose in protest; he was a grieving widower and flirting with a house sitter was probably the last thing on his mind.

But it was a nice compliment nonetheless. "And for that you might just get some cream tea," she said.

"I look forward to it," Lance said, an exquisite eyebrow rising a fraction.

Exquisite? Where did that come from? But Elena had no time to ponder about that; she found herself speaking when she did not give permission for it to do so. "Even if it is from a burglar robbing your neighbour?"

"My best mate is a barrister," he replied, comfortable with the banter. Or so it would seem. The hand went back into the pocket again and he shifted his weight again to the other foot.

"Ah." She did not have to say it, but she had lost control of the speech section of her brain since five minutes ago.

"And…um…speaking of friends…I was wondering…um…my friends and I…we're having a party for our friend who got engaged with another friend…"

Elena's heart stopped momentarily when Lance smiled sheepishly at his explanation. And bit his bottom lips, looking uncertain if he should continue. He decided to continue anyway, probably reckoned that he had embarrassed himself too much for it to make any difference. "And I was…would you be available to attend?"

He actually looked relieved when he finished speaking.

And Elena's found herself gaping at him. "I…"

"I…I'm not imposing or anything, but if you are free this coming Thursday, around 7.30 in the evening, maybe you could drop by our party?"

And meet people of her age?

Meet people of any age?

Wear nice clothes instead of scrubs?

Getting a glimpse of who Lance really is?

Meet his friends?

Get out of the house and go somewhere that is not TESCO or the corner shop or the clinic?

What would else could she answer except for, "I'd love to."

Another smile lit up his face. This time Elena was ready for it. She was able to look at him and match his smile with her own. "That's good," he said, nodding. "My friends would be delighted to meet you."

"I look forward to meeting them."

"I haven't got any invitation card on me," Lance said, looking quite apologetic. "I'm just on my way to pick it up. Maybe I'll slip one under your door?"

"That'll be great," Elena said certain now that she would have to travel to the party on her own. A guest and not a date. She hated thinking the word '_date'_, but she could not help herself.

"Great," Lance said, another shift of weight.

"Great." Elena said, just for the sake of saying something.

"I better be going," Lance said, taking a step sideways from her. "I've got to…"

"Yeah." Elena nodded. "I've got to…you know…" she shrugged, words failing her again.

Lance nodded. His hands remained in his pocket, so that saved the awkwardness of whether or not she should have shook his hand. He looked at her front door, at the kitchen stools, at the carpeted hallway floor and then finally at her. He inclined his head once and took his leave, thanking her again for the cookies and scones. Elena smiled in response and watched him walk down the hallway. He did not look back.

And Elena mentally kicked herself for not offering him a cup of coffee.

Or tea, if he was not into instant coffee.

And a slice of orange cake that she baked two days ago and was now sitting forlornly in the tin, waiting to be eaten.

But the moment, as was he, was gone. Elena tried not to feel bad about the coffee. In fact, as she unlocked the front door and struggled through the door and inside the narrow hallway of the flat with the two kitchen stools, she realized a few things.

One; she was no longer frowning.

Two; she had a friend. She actually had a friend.

Three; said friend just invited her to a party.

Four; she now had the delightful quandary of having to solve the problem of having nothing to wear for the party.

Which is an infinitely better thing to ponder about rather than loneliness and the desolation of winter in the city seemed to bring her.

What made her quandary delightful was the fact that she actually had some money to enable her to afford to shop for a dress, perhaps a pair of shoes. She may even go crazy and buy herself a stylish clutch.

Whilst the thought of a clutch made her frown again, her thoughts inevitably drifted back to Lance du Lac. As she locked up the door, she could not believe that a ten-minute conversation with her neighbour would turn her life around…even if it is for a while.

She decided she was not as tired as she felt. It was barely half past nine in the morning and her head was full of thoughts and images of dresses and shoes and parties. She decided on dark blue (closer to the shade of midnight) for the dress and strappy silver stilettos, as she mixed the ingredients for a cheesecake.

When the cake was done, she left half of it in a box, on a stool, in front of Lance's door.

As a token of appreciation and gratitude.

It was almost noon when she finally went to sleep. Her dreams, however, had not been of dark blue dresses or stilettos. It had been of a pair of dark brown eyes, a slightly crooked, shy smile and elegant fingers.

Elena awoke six hours later, delight replaced with confusion.

The confusion was mainly because Elena wondered where in the twenty minutes or so (most definitely less) she had known Lance that he went from a friendly and kind neighbour to a very friendly and desirable male.

She felt ridiculous; like some schoolgirl having a crush on the cutest guy in class. That was as close to attraction Elena had gotten in her life.

She shook her head, warning herself not to entangle emotions she barely understood herself to what is nothing more than straightforward friendship.

Later in the evening, when she opened the door to leave for work, her heart stopped momentarily, before soaring away when she found the kitchen stool she had put in front of Lance's door earlier that day in front of her own, with a white envelope on it. The envelope had the invite Lance had mentioned.

_Looking forward to Thursday._

_-Lance-_

Elena walked to work, not noticing the fading light of twilight, nor the snow that had started to fall. The smile on her face matched the felt-tip drawn smiley's on the envelope. She also felt that the rest of the days leading to Thursday (it was Saturday evening) were over-rated.

=X=X=X=


	25. Chapter 25

I felt so blessed to have so many of you sending in your best wishes, along your much appreciated reviews, for me to get well. I am much better now, thank you all so much.

This chapter was written with loads of antibiotics in my system and I honestly hope it is acceptable.

Thank you again. And yeah, reviews really do make my day brighter.

* * *

><p><em>16<em>_th__ December 20__

**_Private and confidential_**

_ATTENTION : __Mr ARTHUR PENDRAGON _

**_Termination of Your Employment_**

_I am writing to you about the termination of your employment with __**Pendragon Industries Limited.**_

_In light of the recent events, I __have decided to terminate your employment for the following reasons:_

_i. Your health is no longer optimal for the demands of your position in the Company._

_ii. You have displayed aggressive decision making that will jeopardize the Company and its interests. _

_Based on your length of service, your notice period is __2__ weeks. Therefore your employment will end on __the 31__st__ of December 20_. _

_In lieu of receiving that notice, you will be paid the sum of your accrued entitlements and outstanding remuneration, including superannuation, up to and including your last day of employment._

_Yours sincerely,_

_Uther Pendragon_

* * *

><p>Gwaine went on speaking, but Arthur did not hear a word his friend was saying. He was aware that he was in the kitchen, Gwaine pacing in the space between the counter and the stove, Guinevere seated opposite him at the kitchen table. There were mugs of coffee on the table, going cold and undrinkable. Gwaine was talking mostly to himself; muttering about corporate law, injustice and Uther Pendragon being a right royal choice of swearword that he will not utter out of respect for Arthur.<p>

Arthur supposed Gwaine's ranting would be considered funny; Gwaine waking up on a Saturday morning to correspondence from the one adult he detested the most in the whole country would have been enough to jar anyone's mood even before getting into the contents of the correspondence. And finding out his best friend had been fired from his job…well, Gwaine is doing a good job keeping everything reined in. So far, his protests have been verbal and thankfully self-censored, but that is only because Guinevere was in the room with them.

The more Arthur thought about, the more funny it seemed to him. He would have loved to see the reaction on Gwaine's face when he had read the letter by Uther…at nine o'clock on a Saturday morning… it would have been priceless.

And as he thought of the timing, Arthur wondered if the delivery of the letters had been deliberate; Uther had put two days between Arthur receiving the letter and the courts and offices being open. It was most likely deliberate; Uther never does anything without planning well ahead first.

Arthur supposed he should feel something else other than mirth at Gwaine's predicament and being impressed at how Uther had arranged all this to happen on the days when law offices are closed. He wondered just exactly what he was supposed to feel.

Anger?

Sadness?

Disappointment?

Frustration?

The need to smash some things?

Arthur looked at Guinevere, seated opposite him, looking intently at the patterns on the table cloth, her hands on her lap. If he was asked what he was feeling, Arthur would have answered that he was concerned. Mainly about Guinevere. And in a small way, of Gwaine as well.

His concern for Guinevere was the only emotion that felt palpable to him. He had raced through anger and sadness and the whole lot of emotions of dealing with the fact that everything he worked had been yanked away from him by the use of a few words typed out on a piece of paper. But all of them, every single moment of those emotions dissolved away when he saw Guinevere. All he could think of as he held the paper and looked at her was to protect her from this…from his father.

Because Arthur was not as delusional as to think that a displaced knee would ever be considered a serious health issue when it comes to his position in the company. This has everything to do with Arthur being with Guinevere. And this was how Uther is showing his displeasure towards Arthur's decision.

By taking away his job, which Uther knew very well that Arthur loved.

Pendragon Industries was more than just a family business for Arthur. It was not because of the fact that it was part of his inheritance that he loved the company. It was not because of the challenges of corporate world, which many can laugh at and few can navigate. It was hardly the money, because Arthur has his mother's family to thank for a generous trust fund.

Arthur loved his job for one reason only. It was as the CEO of Pendragon Industries that he was able to sit and talk with his father, if not as an equal, then as an employee. Uther Pendragon always had time for the CEO of his company, always listened to his suggestions, felt compelled to praise him for any job well done. Pendragon Industries was the one place Uther had ever approved of anything his son ever did. And Arthur had only ever wanted to please his father, even when doing none of his own his choice.

It is not as if Arthur had not come to accept the decisions Uther had made for him until now. In some ways, Arthur appreciates them; he knows his father wants the best for him…if not the for company or the family name.

Arthur supposed he has now grown up, in a serious relationship that is headed towards marriage in the nearest possible future. He supposed that he could say for certain that he knows what is best for him. Arthur would never admit that to be the truth, because he knows that he is learning every day. He would never become the sort of man Uther Pendragon is. Simply because, if there is one thing that Arthur is sure of, it is the fact that he is not Uther Pendragon. Arthur Pendragon is his own man and he is never, ever going to let his father make him let go off the one thing he treasures more than anything else in his life.

Guinevere.

Just one look at her and none of the contents of the letter had mattered anymore to Arthur. What was a position in a company compared to Guinevere? She is the single most important person in his life and somehow getting fired did not change that fact, not even for a moment.

Arthur could not care less about his position in the company or in its board. Gwaine is doing a pretty fantastic job getting pissed off on his behalf. And Arthur did not doubt Gwaine would give Uther hell for ruining his weekend. And for firing Arthur.

That was between Gwaine and Uther. Arthur was not going to interfere. What he was going to do is make Guinevere understand that the only thing he feels is sorry to have lost what had been a relatively good relationship with his father. And that she mattered a lot more than what had merely been a job in Uther Pendragon's eyes.

Arthur stood up, his abrupt action causing Guinevere to look at him and Gwaine to stop pacing and spare his cuticles. They looked at him, waiting for the momentous words of him issuing a challenge to the termination.

"I'm going to take the rubbish out."

Guinevere was stunned into silence, while Gwaine clenched his hands into fists, gritting his teeth in an effort not to swear or break something.

"You're mad," Gwaine told him, as Arthur limped his way towards the cabinet under the sink where the bin was.

"I'm just doing what I have to," Arthur pointed out. He could not help enjoying himself, he knew it was unfair to Gwaine, but with Guinevere in the kitchen, it was rather fun to see Gwaine restraining himself. Arthur already knows what he was going to do now that he was jobless, but he did not want to tell them just yet. They might think he was backing off from challenging his father, which he rather was, but Arthur knew how to pick his battles. It is a newly acquired skill set, but one that he is grateful for.

And because Guinevere and Gwaine were waiting for Arthur to admit to some sort of concession that he was distraught by the termination, he added, "I could use the walk?" It came out a question rather than a statement, but luckily, neither Guinevere nor Gwaine picked up on it. That distressed him. Normally, they would know these things, but Uther's decision has cast black a shadow over them and now…well, now they were almost strangers to each other.

Thankfully, however, both of them did not choose to come with him. They probably thought a walk to the bin at the side of the building was hardly 'mind-clearing'. Or perhaps they thought he could use the time by himself. Either way, Arthur's main concern now was trying not to appear more the invalid than he already is. Because he has gotten the rubbish bags (one with the recyclable items and the other with household waste) he needed to dispose from under the sink. All he needed then someone to open the kitchen door and the front door.

And the like best mate he was, Lance walked into the kitchen, all smiles and good cheer and rather oblivious to the tension in the kitchen.

"Mate, a little help with the door?" Arthur called out. Lance, dutifully, held the kitchen door open for Arthur.

"Arthur's been fired from his company." Gwaine's voice was neutral, a far cry from the angry tones he had used moments ago.

Arthur, shuffling through the door, sighed, his gaze dropping to the floor. He continued to the front door, as Lance, surprised into silence, went into the kitchen to be briefed by Gwaine. Arthur made it to the hallway when Lance came out of the kitchen again, followed by Gwaine and Guinevere. All three were frowning, looking very much concerned. Only Gwaine looked slightly incredulous; he probably reckoned it was time to draw strategies to challenge Uther Pendragon, not for domestic chores.

"Arthur?" Lance called out, as Arthur paused near the door.

Arthur looked at Lance. He supposed the rest of them saw indifference. What Arthur felt was…blessedly, nothing at all.

Arthur nodded at the door and Lance stepped forward, but not before glancing the Gwaine and Guinevere. He went to the door and opened it, allowing Arthur out before closing it behind him.

"You want to talk about it?" Lance asked, as they made their way down the hallway and towards the lifts.

"Actually, yeah."

Lance was surprised when he heard the admission. Gwaine and Guinevere would have, no doubt, told Lance about Arthur not saying about his termination. Arthur wanted to talk to them about what he was thinking and planning, but Gwaine and Guinevere were not ready for it just yet.

"So…" Lance said, stuffing his hand into his jacket, falling in step beside Arthur.

"I'm not happy." Arthur said, speaking truthfully. He really did not think there was any other way he could talk this out, now that he was ready to talk about it. Besides, honesty always kept things simple.

"Of course."

Arthur smiled to himself. It was always easy to talk to Lance; he never judged or interrupted unnecessarily. That is not to say that Gwaine and Guinevere would not, but, Lance…he always listened.

"I mean, not at the way he did it, you know? Sending a letter?" Arthur said, trying to keep from getting annoyed. Getting his termination in the mail was a trifling matter compared to the fact he was no longer employed, but he could not help hating the way his father had done it. "It shows that he's…he doesn't want to see me…" Arthur let his voice trail off; he could not think anything beyond that. Just days ago, his father had visited him, kissed him and assured him everything will be well.

It had all been a pretence, Arthur thought, more sad than angry. And yet, he felt none of the emotions or feelings associated with sadness; he supposed he should be experiencing acute heartbreak, or even mind-numbing grief at such a betrayal…but Arthur would be lying to himself is he thought he was not expecting something like this to happen. He had gone after Guinevere and gotten engaged to her without a single look-in by his father and Arthur realized that today, whatever ill-conceived idea he might have had of his father not caring enough to acknowledge his decisions regarding Guinevere had just been dismantled. His father cared a lot about Guinevere and her being with his son. Cared enough to deliver this ridiculous ultimatum.

As if had been a choice in the first place, Arthur thought to himself. Stack up any decisions or choices against Guinevere and Arthur would choose his future wife every time.

"Or quite probably afraid." Lance offered, his quiet voice breaking Arthur's reverie. They were now standing in front of the lifts, waiting for it to come up.

"That's bullshit. He's not afraid of anything," Arthur remarked, just as the lift door opened. They got into the carriage and Arthur used the end of his walking stick to press the button for the ground floor. "Least of all firing his son." He felt bitter as he spoke and it must have been audible through the tone of his voice.

"I am all for bullshit for this one," Lance said, shrugging. "Uther Pendragon is human after all."

Arthur decided that he could not care less if his father was human or otherwise, frightened of him or not. The moment he read the letter of termination, an idea that had always been at the back of his mind had been brought forward. "I'm thinking sheep."

"What?" Lance sounded as surprised as he looked. It was only then Arthur realized that he had replied to Lance's statement about Uther with that of a farm animal.

"And organic vegetables," Arthur added quickly, just so that Lance would not be getting the wrong idea.

Lance actually looked relieved. The lift came to a halt on the ground floor and he waited until they were out of it, before asking, "Agriculture?"

Arthur smiled, looking at Lance. "There's…"

"Tintagel," Lance finished for Arthur, smiling back, as they crossed the lobby.

"Exactly," Arthur replied. Farming and rearing livestock in Tintagel had been an option for Arthur; something he had considered getting into when he retired. At the age of forty.

"Sounds like a plan," Lance remarked, opening the front door for Arthur. They stepped out into the chilly morning and made their way to the side of the building.

Arthur was not even sure where to get started on his plan. But he assured himself that at least, he has a plan. "Yeah. I mean, an hour ago, I was happy," Arthur said, thinking about he had felt returning from his morning walk with his newspaper. He had been content, happy with the fact that he was no longer confined to his flat, happy to be alive and well. "Now, I am…happier." And he was not just saying it because he was trying to convince himself. If anything, he was happier.

He felt…liberated.

"That's good," Lance said, patting Arthur's shoulder. They turned into the alley at the side of the building, where the bins were.

"It's about time I started making my own decisions," Arthur continued. In his mind, he wondered if the side alley of his flat was the most suitable place to talk of his future and then decided that the location hardly mattered. It was what he was saying and whom he was saying to that was more important.

"Of course. Time to be your own man," Lance remarked.

Arthur was stunned when he heard Lance. Of course Lance was right and that is what he supposed his plans were all about, but it was a bit unnerving to hear it spoken aloud. "Well, now that you've said it, I…"

"Don't say it, mate," Lance said, as they stopped walking momentarily. He must have sensed Arthur's apprehension. "This," he continued. "Is a challenge that is a literal piece of cake for you. I mean, you've survived all those decisions made by your Father. I am sure you will survive…even excel at making your own decisions a success."

"I…" Arthur was once again surprised, realizing that Lance was telling the truth.

"If anything, Arthur," Lance said, looking at Arthur, an honest, open look in his eyes, a look of complete certainty that supported what he was saying. "You may not be Uther, but you are your father's son."

It was bordering on ridiculousness, but that statement by his best friend, his belief in him…Arthur felt his throat constricting. He found himself at loss as to what to say to Lance. He reckoned there was nothing one could say to a friend who completely understands one's predicament. They resumed their walk towards the bins.

"And I know that you now feel compelled to hug me for these wise words," Lance said, his voice light and playful. Arthur turned to look at him, frowning. "But I would appreciate it if you don't." Lance glanced at the bag of rubbish Arthur was holding. "This is a vintage jacket."

"You're impossible, mate." Arthur shook his head, smiling. He shoved one of the bags through the slot of the bin and moved on to the other one.

Lance's grin matched the laughter in his eyes. "You're welcome," he replied. "And, Arthur…"

"Yeah?"

"We're here for you, mate. All of us are here for you." This time, it was not a jest. Or something said just to make Arthur feel better. This was the truth. "Gwaine more than anyone else, most likely." He added the last bit with a grin.

"Thanks, mate." Arthur felt compelled to express his gratitude, even when he knew Lance was not expecting it. "You don't think it's a bit…farfetched?"

Lance thought about it for a moment before he answered. "It is, yeah," he said. "But, taking the private jet to Rome, proposing while under medication…all that sounds a bit farfetched and yet…you managed it all very well, Arthur."

Arthur smiled. He lifted the other bag in his hand to be thrown into the recyclables' bin. He threw it into the bin and was about to walk away when he caught a glimpse of white and pink through the white TESCO bag that held the rubbish from his flat. Arthur leaned forward for a closer look, as did Lance, who was curious as to why Arthur was showing sudden interest in the rubbish. Arthur reached into the bin with his walking stick, turning the bag towards him so that he might look at it.

Lance's gasp of surprise was more audible than Arthur's. "Congratulations?" he said, his eyes still fixed on the incriminating box visible through the bag.

Arthur looked at the box visible through the white plastic bag, before turning to Lance. He could not think of anything else, save for the blurry image of the woman laughing on the pink and white box.

He supposed the woman was happy because she was pregnant…

Pregnant…

Pregnancy test kit.

Why would it be in his rubbish…

"Oh." The realization, which had already dawned on him the moment he saw the box, finally hit him. A brief moment of loss (he wondered if it really could be Guinevere's, before ruling out Merlin), followed by a tinge of guilt, which was quickly dismissed because he hardly felt he had done something wrong.

Guinevere is pregnant.

And then the moment of clarity.

He saw the brilliant sun peeking through a wintry sky. He felt the chill of winter through his warm clothes, a pleasant reminder of the season. He aware of the smell, a not too pleasant reminder of his location. Nevertheless, everything were details which he knew he would want to remember when he recalls the day he was the happiest he had ever been in his life.

The day he found out he was going to be a father.

Arthur began to laugh.

=X=X=X=


	26. Chapter 26

This chapter came by itself; Merlin's absence in the last two chapters needed to be explained. The timeline is the same as the one with Guinevere (Chapter 23); it's just one long Saturday morning for the gang =)

The Muses have been less than cooperative this week, making their appearance late on Friday night. I was involved in a minor car accident (no one is hurt, some damages to the car, which actually hurt more than it should), so, I guess whatever inspiration was there is a little…jarred. Expect grammar errors. And a chapter that needs some patience, I think.

Reviews make my day and is most welcome to make a harrowing week much better.

* * *

><p>It was a bright morning. The sun was peeking through thick clouds, winning the battle for the promise of a beautiful day. Snow still held on for the moment, not melting just yet, giving London a rather restful air. The park was surprisingly full of people; walking their dogs, jogging, generally being awake and getting the full benefit of a Saturday morning. To Merlin, they all looked happy. And with a purpose. Sitting on a park bench, watching them, Merlin wished he was in a better mood or mindset; sadness was beginning to creep through his thoughts again and he had hoped an early morning walk, some sketches at the park would help dispel that. Half an hour on, the grey thoughts were still weaving though his mind, despite his attempts at ignoring them.<p>

His thoughts felt a little bitter; it was a beautiful morning, he had a good cup of coffee, a chocolate croissant that was making his day even brighter and his sketchbook was steadily filling up with drawings and sketches of people, animals and houses. Yet, even as he sketched, he could not help himself and found his thoughts drifting inevitably back to Christmas…or the lack of Christmas amongst his was another week or so for Christmas and so far Arthur, Lance or Gwaine had made any moves to put up a tree in their homes.

He supposed he could get something started; maybe put up the tree in Arthur's flat and see how it goes from there. But the thing was, he was unsure of how Arthur and the rest of them would feel about it. If they are not talking about Christmas, Merlin doubted they would feel much like preparing for a celebration they may or may not be celebrating. Merlin recalls Arthur saying something about attending the Christmas mass but it was only that once and after that, no one took up the topic anymore.

Merlin was thankful he had the party to think about and plan; he was certain he would be engulfed in depression with Christmas approaching and none of his friends looking remotely interested in celebrating it. Lance and Gwaine were probably thinking the party would cover all their celebrations, but, it did not seem adequate for Merlin. Arthur was injured, so he was probably more concerned of his knee than of Christmas. And Guinevere was concerned for Arthur.

Merlin wondered how it was so easy for them to overlook such a thing as Christmas. The more he ignored it, the bigger it seemed to him and the lack of doing anything about it seemed…wrong to him.

And yet, Merlin knew, he could not really blame any of them. Merlin himself was struggling with his usual excitement of Christmas and the grief that Morgana is not around for it. It was an incomprehensible sort of an emotional yo-yo; he was excited and he felt guilty for it; the guilt alternating between thoughts of Morgana and Christmas not being a time for sadness. Planning for the party for Arthur and Guinevere felt alright, because it was…festive enough for the season.

It was not enough for Merlin though.

Which felt all kinds of wrong.

When Morgana had been around, Christmas began at the start of December and lasted until Gwaine recovered from his New Year's hangover…somewhere around the fifth of January. And then, they would go on a short holiday, somewhere extremely wintry. This year, there were no plans of a Christmas, let alone a winter holiday.

He wondered if he could talk to Lance. And the realized that if Lance had wanted to celebrate Christmas, he would have made some sort of headway into it.

The more he thought about , the more a sigh seemed inevitable. Merlin sighed and took a sip of coffee from the paper cup, enjoying the warmth of the cup in his hand. He put the cup down beside him on the bench and wondered when in the three months since Morgana…was gone that Christmas and talking about Christmas became taboo amongst them.

Merlin decided that today was not going to be the day he will figure out the answer to his question. And today did not seem like the right time to entertain bleak thoughts. He picked up his sketchbook again, flipping to an empty page, his eyes fixed on an old woman walking down the jogger's path, wearing a hat that was a riot of colours and flowers, delightfully incongruent to the snow-capped trees and shrubs around them. The image captured in his mind, he began his sketch, the charcoal in his hand flying over the white paper. And because he was sketching and not painting, he could not stop his mind from wandering into thoughts he really did not want to entertain.

He supposed he should console himself with the fact they are having a party. He should thank Morgause for that, she came up with the idea of the party. If she had not suggested it…

Merlin's heart constricted at the thought of not having a celebration. It was…unthinkable. And of course, with that came the guilt of thinking of a celebration when they are still in mourning (maybe not openly) for Morgana.

Merlin missed Morgana more and more. And not just for the lack of festivities related to the season. He just missed her. He knew not celebrating Christmas was not something that she would have wanted, but Merlin knew he was no expert on what Morgana wants or what she thinks. If he was…well, Merlin reckoned he would not be sitting at this bench all by himself.

A single drop tear fell on his sketchbook, smudging the charcoal lines. Merlin continued sketching, ignoring the dampness. If he concentrated for the next few minutes on his sketch, he knew he would be able to push all grey thoughts to the periphery of his mind. It has known to work before…

"Merlin?"

Merlin's heart gave a lurch that was halfway between surprise and fear. The surprise was for the fact that he did not think anyone he knew would be up at this hour of the day on a Saturday. And the fear, a momentary lapse, was because…well, the voice reminded him of Morgana's.

Merlin looked up from his sketchbook and saw Morgause standing next to the bench, smiling down at him. Merlin's breath caught; standing with the sun to her back, haloed and golden in the morning light, he realized the painting he had been working on for the past two days was nowhere near completion…or close to the truth as he witnessing with his own eyes.

And in his effort to stand up, he knocked over the coffee cup, dropped his backpack and then his sketch book and managed to smudge his pants with charcoal. All in the space of a few heartbeats.

"I…" He did not know what he wanted to say. It was easier to save his things first. He crouched down to pick up his backpack, and the now empty coffee cup, while Morgause helped him with his sketchbook.

When Merlin straightened up, he saw that Morgause was looking at his sketch of the old lady with the hat.

"This is beautiful, Merlin," she said and instead of handing the sketchbook back to him, she flipped over the page to look at the other sketches. Merlin dropped his backpack on the bench, wondering why he could not even put up the mildest protest; perhaps it was seeing the smile on her face, perhaps it was the way her eyes would light up as she looked at each sketch.

"It's…" Merlin shrugged. As talented and successful as he was, Merlin had not really learnt how to accept a compliment.

Morgause finished her perusal of the sketchbook and handed it back to her, looking at Merlin. Merlin took it back with a smile; one that got permanently sealed on his face when his eyes locked onto hers.

"Waiting for Gwaine?" Morgause asked, glancing in the direction of Gwaine's house.

The thought of going up to Gwaine's house had not even occurred to him. All that Merlin knew was that when dawn broke and he woke up on the bench in his studio, he needed to go out; his studio and the flat felt stifling to him. He picked up his coffee and a croissant at a cafe and had just walked on until he came to sit at the bench in the park near opposite Morgause's house.

It was not until he saw Morgause that Merlin relied he wanted to see her.

And it was not until that moment that he realized how very stalker-like he might look at that moment.

"Gwaine would kill me if I showed up at this hour," Merlin remarked. "I was just…sketching. Waiting for the right time." He decided that was actually a pretty reasonable excuse. Perhaps he might have dropped by at Gwaine's place a little later on, if he had not seen Morgause.

"Okay." she accepted the explanation. "I was out for a walk." And then, with a smile that is different from what Merlin had been accustomed to, she added, "I'm expecting Nina today. Cenred is sending her over."

"That's good," Merlin said, still fascinated by the smile. A mixture of genuine happiness and warmth, Merlin knew that not many people were aware of it.

"He's taking her to Dublin for Christmas, so, I'm getting her this weekend." The smile lessened somewhat and that distressed Merlin. He wished he knew something to say, something that said he understood how it felt to be deprived of a loved one during Christmas, but he could not.

He realized it was the same reason why none of his friends were remotely interested in Christmas. Because any preparation would only remind them what they were missing and lacking in their lives.

"I'm sure you'll have a great time together," Merlin said instead. His words were not merely spoken aloud, he sincerely wished she would. He felt good, seeing her happy.

Morgause looked at Merlin. The smile had faded away, but remnants of the happiness that brought it forth still remained in her eyes. "Everything done for the party?" she asked. And suddenly, awkwardness loomed over them; Morgause was aware that all things concerned with the party had been finalized the day before. In fact, she had given the caterers the menu herself. She had texted Merlin about it and the caterers themselves had called Merlin. It occurred to Merlin then that small talk was not the easiest thing in the world.

"Yeah," Merlin nodded. He looked away from her, because this is when he says goodbye (they have run out of things to talk about) and he did not particularly want to do so.

"Good," Morgause said. And did the most unexpected thing. She took a step closer to Merlin and slid her arm into his. Merlin…well, stopped functioning. Everything from his brain, which could not comprehend what was happening to him, to his heart, which he thinks has stopped beating (he could not give a correct evaluation because his brain was not working) and his limbs, all cumbersome and stiff and elastic at the same time. He hardly felt anything at all, save for the pressure of her arm on his. And the wonderful, clean, lilac-scented smell of her. "I have a tree to put up and about a hundred presents to wrap. I could use an extra hand."

Merlin smile widened into a grin. He looked at her, liking the way she simply stood out from her environment; his artist's eyes appreciating the fact that Morgause was the sort of striking that would always turn heads wherever she goes. Bathed in the glorious sunlight of winter's day, she was nothing short of ethereal.

He liked her arm intertwined with his most of all.

And there was no way he was going to decline the invitation; to do the very things he had been yearning to do all this while.

Besides, Merlin owed Morgause.

For help with the party.

And for bringing the sunshine to completely dispel sadness and all grey thoughts.

=X=X=X=


	27. Chapter 27

_Yes. It had been too long. But real life (work, study and the general demands of being an adult) happened and I had to oblige. _  
><em>But the story was never far from my mind...never away from my mind at all. And while the inspiration was there, nothing came out the way I intended them, so the delete button of my laptop had a fair amount of use. <em>

_If **YOU **are here, I **THANK YOU** very much for your patience. And for keeping the faith in this story. I absolutely appreciate it. And love each of you for it. _

_ And I (hope) will post on__ a more regular basis after this. _

_It's been a while, so I will need all the help I can to...get back in the game, so to speak. Feel free to send in whatever feedback you may have, I'm going to need it all. Do let me know if I am doing this right or otherwise.  
><em>

_Grammar might be a bit dodgy. I apologize. _

_And yes, Arthur/ Guinevere goodness coming up soon. This chapter is still the continuation of THAT particular Saturday when things sort of went to hell in handbasket for Arthur. _

_And because this is a chapter in Gwaine's point of view, there's one F-bomb in here. _

_**Jules** (IslandGem), **Juju** (JustineofQueens) and more recently, **Elbartering...**THANK_ YOU. For everything.

* * *

><p>It was barely ten in the morning and Gwaine's head hurt. His stomach was rumbling, demanding breakfast. He shivered as he sat on the stone stairs outside Arthur's flat building, clenching and unclenching his fists in order to keep his temper in check; the action did nothing to alleviate the urge he had to kick the dustbin just outside the door of the building.<p>

There was nothing much for Gwaine to do in the flat. Guinevere looked as dazed and confused as he was. Gwaine had assured her many times over that everything will be fine; that he will fight Uther's decision…give the old bast…bat's (self-censorship was required when talking to Guinevere…the girl can swear like a sailor after a few rounds, even better than Morgana on some occasions, but none of them were drunk that morning, so, Gwaine decided to keep his language clean) legal team no rest until justice is served. Guinevere gave him a hug and excused herself to her room, leaving Gwaine alone in the kitchen. Gwaine could have gone after Guinevere, make them both a pot of tea (too early for anything stronger) and have a bitching session about Uther Pendragon…but he did not.

Because he knew Guinevere was much too kind to throw a bitch fit over the man who is her future father-in-law.

Gwaine also knew that Uther did not deserve any kindness, certainly not from Guinevere.

Seeing that there was little he could do, save to glower at documents sent from Pendragon Industries (he was farsighted and did not stop to put on his contacts when he stormed out of his house this morning), Gwaine put on his jacket and his Manchester United scarf (the green and gold, because he was purist and because it was an Irish sort of colour) and came out to wait for Lance and Arthur. Lack of activity and movement almost froze him and he was glad to see his friends round the corner from the side alley towards the building.

Gwaine rose to his feet when he saw them and could not help feeling just a little satisfied and smug when he saw the mild panicked look on Arthur's face when he saw Gwaine. Arthur must be thinking Gwaine was going to issue a battle cry or throw another fit. For his defence, Gwaine had not been over-reacting. No one like getting up that early on a Saturday morning; no one sane that it. And correspondence form Uther at any given time of any day is always grating on one's nerves. In conclusion (Gwaine concluded), Gwaine's reaction was rather acceptable. What is unacceptable is this compliance circumstances have forced him to accept…forced him to fake, was more accurate.

When Arthur came to stand before him, Gwaine knew there was nothing else he could do, so he gave Arthur a hug, complete with hearty slaps on the back. Arthur, who almost ducked when Gwaine made the sudden move to embrace him, winced, mouthing a silent "Ouch" while Lance just grinned.

"We're here for you," Gwaine declared, knowing that legal battles aside, Arthur needed their support. With a Dad like Uther Pendragon, Arthur needed either support or counselling or therapy, but Gwaine like to believe that Arthur has held off needless hours of talking to strangers while lying on a stranger's couch (not the best use for a stranger's couch, Gwaine would like to admit) because he had all of them. Sure, they might cause him grief every now and then, but that's what friends do. They drive each other mad and then pull back together when one of them needs them.

"Who are you and what have you done with our bad tempered Irish mate?" Lance feigned surprise and suspicion.

Gwaine merely rolled his eyes. It was not his choice, to be this…docile. But whatever Arthur needs him to be or to do, Gwaine would always comply.

"You forget to add good looking," Gwaine told Lance, as they stood in a circle, looking at each other. The quip came easily to Gwaine, who found himself relaxing, fists unclenching as he stood amongst his friends.

"Can't forget something that was never there, mate," Arthur remarked, the serious expression on his face belied by the laughter in his eyes.

"You know, that is actually a good one." Gwaine could not help being impressed with the comeback. Or help being proud of Arthur and the fact that he still had his sense of humour intact after all that has happened this early in the morning.

That was when he felt as if he had over reacted…but he was quick to dispel that.

Because someone needed to over-react…to get angry, to feel outraged at the injustice and the sheer idiocy of Uther Pendragon. Gwaine embraced this role in his group, doing what he felt was natural to anyone.

Arthur grinned "Thanks, mate. Been meaning to use that for a while."

"Glad I could help." Gwaine feigned cheerfulness before letting the smile drop. "Idiot." He did not mean it, but he also knew the guys knew this. "So…" Gwaine said, looking at Lance and then at Arthur. "Are we…"

"I need to talk to Guinevere first." Arthur's voice was quiet. And there was apprehension as well.

Of course, Arthur had to do this. Talking to Guinevere was more important than planning to screw one over Uther Pendragon. "Yeah, sure," Gwaine said, nodding.

Lance spoke up just then. He put a hand on Gwaine's shoulder. "That means we need to get out of here," he said.

Arthur actually looked guilty. "Guys, I'm not…"

"Take all the time you need, mate," Lance said, looking at Arthur. "This is important."

"Yeah. Call us if you need anything," Gwaine added, wondering if a day would be enough before he and Lance come over again. Because this was a crisis they are dealing with and no amount of positive thoughts and energy is going to make it into something else less of a problem.

And in time of crisis, friends need to be close.

And talking of friends and times of crises, the other thing that has been bothering him since he came into Arthur's flat resurfaced. Merlin. Or more accurately, Merlin who is not around. Gwaine found himself clenching his fists again.

"I will," Arthur assured them. Then, he looked at them, swallowing. "I…"

Arthur was going to thank them. Lance must have sensed it too. And if there is one thing Gwaine did not really approve of, it has to be friends being all grateful to one another. Friendship does not need 'thank yous'. Being there for a friend just comes with the territory of being friends. Saying thank you just formalizes the whole thing, as if there has to be a repayment for all the time you one has stood by his friends' side in the time of need. "Yeah, we love you too," Gwaine said, grinning and going towards Arthur for another hug.

Arthur took a step back and held up his walking stick. "Idiot," he said, trying to look cross but not really succeeding. Gwaine was grinning, while Lance was laughing. Keeping a safe distance from Gwaine, Arthur nodded at them both and turned to walk up the stone stairs into his flat. Gwaine and Lance watched him until he reached the door before turning to cross the street, where Gwaine's Mini was parked.

"Sheep farming?" Gwaine asked, as he unlocked the car door.

"Yes," Lance said, getting into the car.

Gwaine got into the driver's seat. He was thoughtful for a moment. "That's good. Something small to get started."

"Glad you are on the same page with us on this, mate," Lance remarked, giving Gwaine's shoulder a squeeze.

Gwaine scoffed, starting the engine. "Is this the page where everyone is ultra responsible, rational, patient and just plain old boring?" he asked. "Like you and the Princess?"

"Yes," Lance replied, grinning, not offended at all.

Gwaine slowly eased the Mini from the side of the road. "I don't want to be there," he said, shaking his head, forlorn. He cannot believe what he has been reduced to…the events in the morning were enough for Gwaine to cause major upheavals in law firms across the city, as well as the courts…

"I'm afraid you are now mediocre and no one will think you are cool," Lance said, shrugging, interrupting Gwaine's train of thoughts.

Gwaine narrowed his eyes at the road. "That is not funny."

Lance laughed. "Perhaps breakfast might lessen your fears?"

"That's the best damn thing I heard this morning, mate," Gwaine said truthfully.

"And we're picking up the invitations for the party?" Lance asked.

"Yes, we are," Gwaine told him. That had been the plan for the day. Wake up for brunch, pick up Lance, pick up the invitations and start sending them out. And there was the fact that he had a Christmas tree sans all the trimmings and decorations, so that had to be tackled as well. No one had broached the subject of Christmas and tree-decorating had been something Morgana organizes; a three day event that starts at Gwaine's house, before going to Arthur flat and ending at her own flat. He had been hoping they could do something about the tree this evening…but that had been yesterday, before Uther decided to ruin their week leading to Christmas. Gwaine felt anger rising in him once again, but then Lance was saying something, so he focused on that.

"Talked to Merlin?"

Not the best option to disperse his anger, but at least the task of giving Lance a response might just help to rein in his anger.

"Haven't seen him," Gwaine said. And at the back of his mind, a rhythm picked up. One that repeated Morgause's name over and over again. He clutched at the steering while tightly, his knuckles growing taut and white.

"He'll come around," Lance said, in an off handed manner. Gwaine felt a momentary pang of envy of how nonchalant Lance could be when thinking of Merlin not being around. He wished…no, wishing not to think of Merlin or where Merlin was or what Merlin was doing was never an option for Gwaine. It never would be.

They had breakfast at a bistro; and if Gwaine thought Lance was unusually chatty, he did not say it. They had a full English breakfast set each. They talked about the party, Uther being a subject neither wanted to broach. Later, they dropped by at the printer's office to pick up the invitations. Lance took a couple of invitations and then told Gwaine to drop him off at his flat. Gwaine was surprised, but then Lance told him that he had to run down to his office later in the afternoon to do some last-minute editorial work for the new year's issue of his magazine.

After dropping off Lance, Gwaine realized that he had a full day stretched ahead of him and not much to do. He frowned as he realized that Lance and Merlin's absence meant he had to send the cards out himself, and licking stamps all afternoon is not something Gwaine would want to pursue on a Saturday.

There was the Christmas tree…

There was nothing more depressing to Gwaine than decorating his own Christmas tree. He dismissed the idea at once, deciding not to go into his living room, just so that he would not have to see the tree Baxter had put up; all green, large and looking slightly hopeful (if a tree can manage to look that way).

He reached home and parked by the side of the road across his house. As he got down from the car, he could not help but to notice that Morgause's silver BMW was parked at its usual place in front of her house. Gwaine looked at the car and then at Morgause's house and for a moment wondered if he would be able to reach Merlin if he called her house.

The answer was a resounding '_Yes'_ from the back of his mind. Gwaine slammed the door of his car and crossed the road to his house. He entered his house, announcing his arrival to the household staff by another slam of the door, and another slam as he went into the living room.

He was greeted by a bare tree, looking less hopeful and more forlorn.

Gwaine knew exactly what he would do just then.

By the time he finished half a bottle of the best Merlot (it was a bad morning –almost afternoon, really-, he justified to himself when he dusted it off the shelves in the cellar), Gwaine forget about being angry with Uther, forget about the bloody Christmas tree that looked obscene and naked in his living room and by the time the shadows lengthened across his room, forget about the time of day. An afternoon nap followed next, one that dragged on until late evening. He woke up to the worst non-morning-after headache ever and hunger. He rolled out of bed and went out of his room, hollered for Baxter to brew the meanest pot of coffee he could and then hit the showers.

And came running out of the bathroom, in the midst of his shower, soap suds and all when his mobile rang because in his heart he knew it was Merlin. He was not wrong.

Merlin was all cheer and happiness and suggested that they go out for dinner. Italian, he suggested, which came as a surprise because Merlin was not fond of Italian food prepared outside the house and neither was Gwaine.

"Morgause says she knows this great place…"

And that was pretty much all that Gwaine heard. At the mention of Morgause, Merlin's voice became distant and all he could hear was the rush of blood to his head. Soap was running down from his hair, his stinging eyes almost a welcome distraction from the anger and ache he felt within…somewhere near the general region of his heart. And yet somehow, with all the stinging and hurt and aching, he must have said something along the lines of agreeing to have a meal with Morgause because Merlin's voice was all enthusiastic.

"Excellent! I'll come over in ten minutes," Merlin said and Gwaine felt as if he wanted to protest…

And before other emotions clouded his senses, Merlin added, "She's a little upset. Her daughter was supposed to visit her today. But Cenred was too busy, so he could not send her over. And now Morgause probably won't get to see Nina before Christmas." Merlin's voice was all quiet and solemn when he said this.

_What do you want me to do about it_, Gwaine wanted to ask. _We have enough problems as it is. Your best friend lost his job. Where the fuck were you when that happened? _

Instead, because, in his mind's eyes, he could see Merlin looking all hopeful, he said, "Well, we'll try to cheer her up then," Gwaine said, really not sounding like himself as he said this. And too much soap was getting into his eyes, his carpet was getting ruined and his phone keeps slipping from his hand. "See you in a bit, Merlin, yeah?"

Merlin rang off with an affirmative. Gwaine disconnected the call and something prompted him to check the number. His eyes burned when he saw that it was Morgause's mobile number.

It was only because his phone slipped from his hand that it was saved from being flung across the room.

=X=X=X=


	28. Chapter 28

To **Victoria, arthurgwen2010** (hah! it rhymes!), **lailastar** and **Lara Smith**...thank you so much.

and of course, to EACH AND EVERYONE ONE OF YOU, still around, still being patient with and keeping your faith in the story...**THANK YOU VERY MUCH**.

Here it is. The Arthur/ Guinevere chapter. Reviews will make it known if you've loved or...I hope you do love it.

* * *

><p><em>The forest was silent, the trees thick and close to the single path that had been cleared in the midst of it. it was bright enough, not the sort of bright that is happy or sunny, just bright enough for everything to be visible. The sky ahead was overcast and grey, the air still. A man could be seen walking down the path. he was bloodied and injured, his walk more of a lurch as he limped to an unknown destination along the path. he walked for what seemed like hours, breathing heavily. It seemed that each step was taking away his strength, but still he persisted. His pain was palpable to anyone who could be watching him; it was almost inhuman and unreal that a man with those kind of injuries to his body would still want to inflict more pain upon himself and carry on on his journey. He was nearing a fork in the path; he just kept walking, unchanging in his pace, his direction somewhat less discernible.<em>

_Guinevere could see him coming down the path. she was standing too far to see who he was. she walked towards him, realzing there was nothing and no one else on the path, or in the forests around them. the injured man and Guinevere were the only ones there. but Guinevere was not afraid. She knew she could take care of herself. The injured man was her only concern._

_She neared the man, who kept his head down as he moved along the path. she held out a hand to offer him help. The man stopped walking and looked at her._

_It was Arthur._

_It felt as if her heart had completely stopped beating. This man…this was not Arthur. her Arthur was strong, unbreakable. This man in fornt of her, his face was bloody, his arms, legs and the whole left side of him battered and bruised, as if…_

_As if he had walked out of a car wreck._

_Guinevere tried to call his name, but she could not. She was crying. It hurt her to see Arthur hurt this way. It hurt even more that Arthur did not even see her; he was walked past her._

_Guinevere knew she had to help Arthur. she turned and ran towards him, but then found herself unable to keep up with him, unable to reach out at him._

_She ran ahead of him, to the path where she had been standing, hoping that he would see her then._

_Arthur reached the fork in the path, his steps faltering. He finally stopped and looked up. He looked at the other path and that at the path where Guinevere was standing. He did not see her._

_He took a step forward, towards the other path._

_And then he was lost forever from her._

_Guinevere found herself alone in the forest, the path she had been standing on longer visible. Darkness was creeping in, the sky swirled with grey clouds that promised storms._

_She was numb. She could not breathe. She was crying, her tears hot against her cheeks. She was holding a baby, her baby against her, the only warmth she felt in the cold, cold darkness._

_Someone touched her shoulder, causing her turn._

_It was Uther Pendragon. His eyes were chips of grey ice, his mouth hard and grim. There was nothing but hatred in his eyes for her._

_"Never a choice, Guinevere," Uther told her, his voice echoing in the forest. "You will never be a choice, Guinevere…"_

_"Guinevere…"_

_This time it was Arthur's voice. So far away…Guinevere looked around her, but she could see not see any sign of him._

_And the suddenly, the light was gone. There was only darkness all around; darkness that was inky black and somethering and weighing down on her._

_Guinevere was afraid…not of the dark…but of her baby…where was her baby…_

_Her baby…she could see her baby, let alone feel it._

_A scream rented the through the dark…._

Guinevere awoke with a start.

She opened her eyes.

Darkness dissipated.

Light began to flood in, dispelling the dark.

She was in her room, curled up on the huge armchair beside the bed.

_A dream. It was a dream._

But the realization of it brought her no comfort or relief. Her dreams were too…

She did not want to thnk about her dreams. The sentiments and emotions of what went on with her dream is practically the same as her dreams, so she did not need more confirmation that she was wrong for Arthur, that he would be better off without her.

Guinevere threw aside the quilt covering, her mind to preoccupied to wonder why she had a quilt when she distinctly remembers seeing the quilt on the bed when she first came in and sat down on the chair. She had no idea the time of the day, though the eastward slanting shadows and generally fading sun indicated somewhere in the afternoon. She must have fallen asleep, she realized, going into the bathroom. She splashed some water on her face, washing away the sleep…the remnants of the nightmare…and freshened up. She grabbed a towel hanging beside the mirror, but was careful not to catch a glimpse of herself in the mirror. She could not face looking at herself.

On her way out of the room, she checked the clock and saw that it was nearing two in the afternoon. She went into the living room and saw that it was deserted. The letter from Pendragon Industries was on the coffee table, decidedly stark and cold and all sharp edges. She suppressed a shiver as she remembered the shards of grey steel that was Uther's eyes on her. Faint noses from behind the closed door of the kitchen drew Guinevere's attention from away from the letter and she walked towards the door. Just before she pushed the door to enter the kitchen (she knew Arthur would be there), she wondered what she is going to say to Arthur.

She could laugh as she realized that this was it. This was the end of what had been a good run in luck for her. She managed to have Arthur for a little while and that seemed good enough…

Her hand went to her belly and it was only when she closed her eyes that she realized she had tears in them. She really could not be sure of her feelings and emotions in the last few hours; there was a constant lump in her throat and she seemed to have developed a penchant for crying. It would not do to cry in front of Arthur when she…

When she…

When she tells him the truth.

That Arthur Pendragon was better off without her.

Her heart gave a lurch; her body seems to fighting her thoughts. She pressed her hand against her belly.

_You're all I've got, love. I will take care of you. I swear. Nothing will happen to you. To us. _

_Except for a broken heart and a shattered soul and an almost meaningless life…_

Guinevere shook her head. It does not matter what not having Arthur in her life would to do her. All she that she cared at the moment was how much better off Arthur would be without her in his life. She could figure out everything else later.

She wiped her eyes using the back of her hands and took a deep breath. She pushed the door open and walked into the kitchen, coaxing a semblance of a smile on to her face.

Arthur was with his back to the door, standing at the stove, quite intent with whatever he was doing. The state of the kitchen counter and the sink and a few cupboards with their doors open revealed that there was some sort of a meal – making process going on. Guinevere waited by the door, unsure of what to do now that she was in the kitchen. There was the one thing that she wanted to do, which was to rush to Arthur, and just hold him, hoping that everything that had happened this morning was just a nightmare…that she was now fully awaken and this was her reality…a life where Arthur was the one thing she could be certain of…

_No. That was a dream. This…_

"Are you sure this is what happens next?"

Arthur's voice snaps Guinevere from her reverie. Guinevere looked at Arthur, still with his back to her. She opened her mouth to say something; it was a futile effort. But it was not too long before Arthur spoke again.

"I'm not sure. Is poking allowed?"

Guinevere was confused. She frowned, her thoughts racing, wondering what had happened to Arthur.

"Okay. I'll poke it. Soft to the touch, right? Ouch! A fork? Why didn't you say…Sorry, Miss Hunith. Yes, yes, it's soft. It really is. now what?"

Arthur turns from the stove just then, carrying a pot using his favourite cupcake-patterned mittens. That was when Guinevere noticed the Bluetooth device attached to his ears. Arthur saw her immediately and his face lit up in a smile that seemingly chased away whatever grey clouds that had attached itself to Guinevere.

"Guinevere!"

She will never get used to it. No matter how long she hears him say her name, every time feels as if she was hearing it for the first time…every time it just sounds all the more special.

"Yes, she's here. Just woke up from a nap…" Arthur was saying, as he put the pot on down on a coaster on the counter. "Yes, Miss Hunith…I'm getting her a cup of tea now…" Arthur did as he spoke, preparing a mug of tea for Guinevere, as she smiled at him and took a seat at the kitchen table opposite the counter. Guinevere was less confused now; Arthur always calls up Merlin's mother, Miss Hunith, whenever he does any cooking for them. It was something he does, claiming talking to Hunith, always Miss Hunith to all of them (except Lance who calls her _Maman_), makes him less jittery when handling knives and fire.

Arthur came over to the kitchen table, limping but not using his stick for such a short distance. He placed a steaming mug of tea in front of Guinevere, bent down and kissed the top of her head. "Just a moment, love," he murmured softly, touching the side of her face. "Miss Hunith says hello."

"Give her my love as well," Guinevere says and Arthur obliges immediately before returning to the kitchen counter to deal with the potatoes he had just boiled. He was making them lunch…the first time after too long of a time.

Guinevere touched the mug with her hand, letting the warmth seep through to her. Her other hand was on the hospital I.D bracelet; she was turning it around her wrist in an absent minded manner using her finger. she watched Arthur, who was now cutting some greens for a salad. When she offered to help, he waved it away, indicating he had everything under control. But Guinevere did wonder aloud if the slightly smoking pan on the stove behind him is part of that control. He managed to rescue the chicken wings he had been frying just before it crisped into oblivion and managed to looked suitably remorseful as he told Miss Hunith of what nearly happened to the main course.

She could live like this for the rest of her life. This was so perfect…just Arthur being Arthur and Guinevere would be own self. This was how she had always imagined it would be. This was the love she had craved for all her life; the love that was slipping away from her grasp.

_It will end soon._

Because Guinevere was not going to be a bad choice that Arthur makes.

Arthur cannot choose her over his fortune, his job or his birth right.

All that Guinevere had to give him…

Arthur smiles at her when his eyes met hers , and then goes back to chopping the carrots.

_Love_.

All that she could give him was love.

It was all she had. She had nothing more. She could only love Arthur.

If she was asked to sacrifice the one thing that meant most to her, she would willingly give herself up, give her life. Because there was no one thing…no one person that meant more to her than Arthur.

she could not give him up.

Guinevere loves Arthur.

As much as Arthur loves Guinevere.

The thought, something that she had always known, was now before her, in crystal clarity.

Could she really hurt him, by choosing to leave him? Now, when he needs her the most?

By telling him to choose something else over love?

What right did she have telling Arthur to disregard his love?

Why would she want to turn her back on what was the best thing in her life?

Suddenly the distance between her and Arthur was just a little too much. Guinevere got up from her seat and went towards Arthur, the lump in her throat dissolving, the weight in her shoulders lifting. As she went towards him (Arthur had already noticed her and said his goodbye to a probably surprised Hunith before pulling the Bluetooth device away from his ears), she made her choice.

Her choice was Arthur.

Her choice was to stay with him.

To be his strength.

To be whatever he needed her to be.

If his job, fortune and birthright, did not matter to him, if he chooses Guinevere above all that…well, she will the best choice he had ever made in his life.

She closed the gap between them fairly quickly, falling into his embrace as easily as she had always done.

This was her reality.

This was her dream.

"I love you."

There was nothing else that she could say. When she looked up at Arthur, she saw tears welled up in his eyes. "I…I can't lose you, Guinevere."

Guinevere shook her head. She stood on her tip toe to kiss his cheek, the gentlest of a kiss. "You won't. I'll be here. Always, Arthur. Always."

Arthur's smile turned into laughter, the tears that fell from his eyes ignored completely. "I know. I was not planning on loosing you, Guinevere," he told her, using his thumb to wipe away her tears. "Or Tristan."

Guinevere's breath caught. Of course he would know. This was something that meant as much to Arthur as much as it did to her.

"What if she's a girl?" Guinevere asked, biting her lower lips.

There was not even a moment's hesitation. "Sarah," he replied.

Fresh tears spilled forth. Sarah was Guinevere's mother. Once, a long time ago, during one of their many slumber parties, Guinevere told Morgana that she would call her daughter Sarah. Somehow, Arthur must have found out. Or Morgana must have told him.

"Do you think Tristan or Sarah would mind is their Dad was a just farmer in Tintagel?" Arthur asked, looking at Guinevere, seeking her assurance for this bit of detail of their future.

"I think they would love their Dad regardless of what he did," Guinevere said, nodding, agreeing and liking what she was hearing. But still, she had to know… "But, Arthur, the company…"

Arthur shook his head, not wanting Guinevere to continue. "I know, love. All that time and hard work." He shrugged. "I can't help it, that's just who I am, I don't do things by halves. It's only natural I gave it all to Pendragon Industries."

"I'm so sorry, Arthur."

"Whatever for, love?" Arthur looked genuinely at a loss, frowning as he regarded her.

"For all that has happened…because of me…"

"Guinevere, you…you and Sarah or Tristan are above everything else. Nothing is too big to forsake. I do not feel as if I have given up anything. In fact, I gained more today than I could think was possible," Arthur said, conviction evident in the intent way he was looking at her.

"I love you so much, Arthur Theodore Tristan Fergus Pendragon."

"You forgot Alexander and Henry."

Guinevere raised an eyebrow, looking at Arthur. "I was trying to hurry it up because I wanted to kiss you."

"By all means, do not let me keep you…"

Guinevere's lips claimed his and Arthur pulled her to him, deepening his kiss. Guinevere's limb joined the ranks of jello; it had been a while since she fully enjoyed Arthur kissing her. The thought of a whole lifetime of this made her smile.

"And I you," Arthur whispered, when they drew apart, but still held Guinevere close to him. "How long till baby?"

"Probably mid-summer," Guinevere told him.

"Spring wedding then."

"Sound delightful," Guinevere said, smiling up at him. "Godparents?"

"I thought we'd just let the guys fight it out," Arthur replied, grinning.

Laughter rang rich in the kitchen. Guinevere embraced Arthur again. The kitchen smelled of burnt apple cobbler. And Arthur kissed Guinevere again.

=X=X=X=


	29. Chapter 29

There is no way I can convey my gratitude for all the lovely feedback and reviews I got for the last chapter and the story as a whole. I love every one of them and I love every one of you who are here, still patient, still keeping the faith. All I can say is THANK YOU VERY MUCH. And I sincerely do hope that reading this story gives you as much happiness as it does for me when writing it down.

It might be bit longer for the next chapter (real life interfering again). Until then, here's one more of the same day. Show Lance (it's his chapter this time) some love? Reviews, of course, are much loved and appreciated. Grammar is a bit dodgy for this one; the voices in my head (fondly referred to as the Muses) offer their apologies.

* * *

><p><em>Many years ago… <em>

_The two men, one with hair as dark as jet and the other who was headed towards premature greying, were having their breakfast, talking about the turn of the weather and the pleasures of having fresh milk and eggs for breakfast every morning. A much younger woman, a sibling of the man with the greying hair was pouring milk into a glass and putting it before a pale, slight boy who was slowly making his way through a second helping of scrambled eggs. She smiled indulgently when the boy looked up, smiling through a mouthful of eggs. _

_Summer was coming to an end; its final days marked with unrelenting rain. The morning was overcast and it had been raining since the night before, casting a gloomy and chilly air to the morning. The rain and the gloom however did not seem to deter two boys who, starkly visible against the rain in their yellow raincoat and matching wellingtons, were marching up the stone pathway towards the kitchen door of the cottage where the adults and the small boy were in. _

_The relative silence of the kitchen was broken when an urgent knock was heard on the door. The woman, already guessing who the early morning visitors were, opened the door to let them in. The small boy at the table stopped eating and it was obvious he was excited to see them. He could hardly stay in his seat, straining his neck to catch a glimpse of the early morning visitors. _

_The two boys spoke something to the woman as they shucked out of their raincoat and wellies. The woman took their outdoor things and hung it on a peg beside the door, rainwater dripping from the items of clothing and unto the floor. She did not seem to mind the puddle forming in her kitchen. She moved towards the stove, to prepare more food for the newcomers. _

_The two boys, one was blond, the other a brunette with hair falling over his face made their way to the table where the two men were. The small boy watched with apparent fascination as the boys approached the dark haired man at the head of the table. _

"_Good morning, Gaius, Monsieur du Lac," the blond haired boy said. The other boy was silent; his arms cursed over his chest, the sullen expression on his face probably a mask to disguise his nervousness being in a room full of adults. _

_The dark haired main, Monsieur Hugo du Lac, put down his mug of coffee and looked at the two boys, smiling. He knew who they were. _

"_Good morning, young man," he said. His English was impeccable, but there was a hint of accent that suggested his origins from the south of France. "What can I do for you?"_

"_My friend and I…" the blond boy began but got no further than that when a shout erupted at the other end of the table. _

"_Me too!" the dark – haired boy cried, much to his mother's surprise. The other boys looked at him; the blond one rolling his eyes, irritated with the interruption, the brunette with a grin of approval. The young boy slid down from his seat and took his place next to the brunette. _

_Monsieur du Lac had already guessed at what the conversation is going to be. He hid his smile and looked at the blond boy, who looked at him with the concealed trepidation and all the importance of an eight year old boy. _

"_My friends and I," the blond began again, emphasizing on newly-acquired plural for friend. "We want…hope…."_

_The brunette made an impatient noise while the younger boy (two years younger than the other two, Hugo was sure of this) looked on the verge of tears. The other man at the table, Gaius, and his sister were both looking at the boys, wondering what they were going to do. _

_The blond boy took a deep breath to compose himself. He looked at Monsieur du Lac again. "We don't want Lance to go back. To France. We want him to stay…"_

"_Here?"_

"_Yes?"  
>"But Lance does not know a word of English." The tone was light and teasing and there was laughter in Monsieur du Lac's eyes, but the boys were too distressed and too young to see it. If they sensed any light-heartedness, they probably thought of it as Monsieur du Lac not taking them seriously enough because they were not tall enough. <em>

"_We can teach him," the brunette said, his sullen looks replaced with one of eagerness and hope and stopping short of telling Monsieur du Lac about his grandson Lance knowing the English equivalent of 'merde'._

"_But he starts school in Lausanne in October," Monsieur du Lac stated, looking at the boys one by one. _

"_He can come to school here," the blond boy said. Monsieur du Lac was very much impressed with the boy; the young Pendragon boy was nervous and there was a pleading look in his eyes. And yet, he managed to convey both confidence and neutrality, as if showing too much emotion would hinder his request. "St. Matthew's is good. You can ask Gaius. He convinced Father to let me stay when he wanted to take me to London." As he said this, he looked at Gaius, not for support, but for confirmation of what he had said. The boy knew what he was talking about, confident with the facts he had. _

_Monsieur du Lac's glance rested briefly on his old military friend._

"_Arthur, Merlin, Morgana and I are there." the brunette spoke this time. "We'll look after Lance."_

"_Yes, like tell him to wash his hands before dinner and brush his teeth every morning," the smaller boy said, stepping forward to stand next to the blond boy. _

_None of the adults laughed, though their mirth was very much evident by the way they bit down their lips, trying to control their smiles. It was a time solemnity, because the three boys expect it to be so. _

"_He'll visit you during Christmas and next summer," Monsieur du Lac said, his voice the gentle tone of an adult who is about to deliver a bad news to the children. "And you are always most welcome to our home at any time."_

"_But he likes it here," the blond boy said and this time, his voice wavered and his eye became bright. "If you take him away with you…" the statement was left unfinished. Hunith, Gaius' sister, sensed the child's anguish, and quickly intervened. _

"_Come, Arthur, Gwaine," she said, putting a hand on their shoulders and gently guiding them to the end of the table where her own son's half-eaten breakfast awaited. "How about some hot cocoa?"_

_The boys allowed themselves to be led to their seats at the other end of the table. They looked forlorn, their heads hung in defeat. The silence in the kitchen was deafening, save for the sound of cutlery and china. _

_This was not the first time Monsieur du Lac had been asked to leave his grandson in Tintagel. He had been coming to Tintagel since he was a young man himself. He was a friend of Gaius from their military days. Not even marriage and children had deterred Hugo from visiting Gaius, who had saved Hugo's life in the sweltering desert in Egypt many years back. The only time Hugo was not in Tintagel for summer was the year his wife died. Last year, Hugo was once again absent from Tintagel, this time for the grief of losing his son and daughter-in-law in a sailing mishap. Gaius and his sister, Hunith, had gone to France and visited Hugo, assuring him that he still had a family in Tintagel. This year, Hugo had come to Tintagel with his grandson. _

_And for the first time in many months, Hugo saw his grandson's face lit up in laughter and life. Lance, a quiet and shy child, had been accepted into the little entourage consisting of Hunith's son, the son and nephew and step-daughter of the Marquis of Tintagel. Hugo had wondered on more than once occasion how the children understood Lance, for his grandson did not speak any English and the children only seem too know a few rude words in French. He then realized that children did not need language, just acceptance. _

_Gaius had suggested that Hugo leaves Lance in Tintagel, with children his age and far away from the tragedy of his parents' death. Hugo wondered if he could bear to be apart his only family. He also knew that he was getting on in his years and he could not keep up with grandson. He knew the answer to Gaius' suggestion the moment he was asked to consider it. _

_Monsieur du Lac looked at his friend Gaius, who was just finishing breakfast. Gaius smiled, having already worked out what his friend was going to say. Hugo then turned to Hunith, who was at the kitchen counter pouring hot cocoa into two large mugs. He was surprised to see her looking rather apprehensive, as if she too was anxious to hear what Hugo had to say. Hugo was aware that Hunith was attached to his grandson, with as much affection, or perhaps more, as Lance was towards her. She had an easy way with children, always gentle and always ready with a treat, be it a story or a sweet or just a hug. The children too seemed to want to please her; always on their best behaviour around her, always seeking her approval of them. The Marquis' son, step-daughter and nephew were always in her cottage or with her in the art supply shop she ran with her husband. It was almost as if she was their child minder…_

_No, Hugo thought. She was the closest the children would have to a mother. The marquis' second wife was always ill and his late wife's sister was away, working in Dublin. They had a nanny, two of them, if Hugo was not mistaken, up in their manor house. The nannies must be the most fortunate ones in the whole of England. The children require very little supervision and spent most of their time in Hunith's cottage or shop or playing outdoors. Even rain does not seem to deter them. _

_ Hugo smiled at Hunith and saw tears falling down from her eyes. She smiled back at him and they both turn to the three boys sitting quietly at the end of the table. _

=X=

_ There were two other children in the cottage, sitting on the staircase in the hallway of the cottage. The dark haired boy, his olive skin just a shade darker after a whole summer spent outdoors, turned to the girl who was sitting beside him on the staircase. Yesterday, during tea, his grandfather had announced that they were to return to France the day after tomorrow. The boy had cried himself to sleep. This morning, he had been awakened by a rattle of pebbles on his window, moments before the girl sitting beside him had climbed up a ladder and demanded him to open the window. Her raincoat was in his room, making a mess on the floor, but they had bigger things to worry about than that. Her stepbrother and friend had taken it upon themselves to talk things over with Monsieur du Lac at breakfast this morning. She was there to deliver the message to him, and sit with him while they waited the outcome of the talk with Monsieur du Lac. _

_ When they heard the cheers erupting in the kitchen, the girl turned to the boy, her pale skin setting off the freckles across her nose, the dark unruly hair and green eyes. He smiled at her, understanding at once what the cheering meant. _

_ _She smiled back at him, showing the gap in her mouth where her two teeth should been. __

=X=X=X=

_London, present day…._

"Mate, dinner?" Gwaine's voice sounded languid through the phone. The calm was probably due to a couple of shots of whiskey. "Merlin just called and he said…"

"Can't," Lance answered. "Kind of busy, mate."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

A moment's silence. Lance swallowed, anticipating the worst.

"Lance Etienne du Bois, what In God's name are you up to?"

Lance sighed. He had already lied to Gwaine once; there was no way he could do it again. "I…I'm going to New York."

The silence on the other end of the line was deafening. And then, with a voice that was indicative of the grin he was sporting, Gwaine said, "Excellent. Gatwick or Heathrow? Shall I meet you there?"

A taxicab came to a halt by the side of the road where Lance was. He got in, covering his mobile phone with one hand, wished the driver a good evening and stated his destination, Heathrow Airport, before turning back to his conversation with Gwaine. "No, you will stay here and watch over Arthur," Lance said. And before he could protest, Lance added. "I've already gotten Baxter to hide your passport."

"What?" Gwaine yelled, exasperated. "He's MY butler. And what if there is an emergency evacuation across the country?"

Lance sighed, rolling his eyes. "Then you may have your passport, under the supervision of Baxter, of course."

"Mate…" Gwaine began his voice calmer and softer, probably at the realization that yelling had never gotten him very far in convincing people he was right.

Lance interrupted before Gwaine could speak. "I'm going there so that father and son could make amends…not burn more bridges."

"You are aware that Uther Pendragon is a right old bast…old bat, right?" Gwaine said, the defiance in his voice overshadowing the defeat in the conversation.

Lance chuckled. "Yes."

"And you still want to do this?"

"Yes."

"You're mad."

"Takes one to know one."

Gwaine sighed, the admission of defeat, but not a gracious one. If anything, he sounded as if he was trying to rein in his bad temper. "Give my love to him,"

"In Spanish, Portuguese or Gaelic?" Lance asked, grinning as he remembered how much 'love' Gwaine had showered upon his uncle this morning.

Gwaine laughed, the mood lightening considerably. "Admit it, that little tirade was bloody impressive. Especially in Spanish."

Lance nodded, unable to help the smile. "It was, yeah."

And in the same light tone, Gwaine asked the one question Lance wished he would never ask, as much as he wished he would. "Will you be alright?"

It was a seemingly casual question, but Lance knew what Gwaine was really asking. There was no answer to the question. Lance knew he was being driven by what at best can be described as hollow courage. He was technically going through the motions because he had already made the arrangements, bought the tickets, booked his hotel, packed his bag and everything. Of course, he had been certain he must do this, but the closer he is getting to doing it, he found his courage…slowly ebbing away.

Perhaps it had been a sugar rush, Lance thought remembering the cheesecake had been eating as he went about making his plans and arrangements. Elena had left it for him and he now has the queasy feeling one gets after over-indulging in sweet, rich food.

Or it could be his guts telling him this was a daft idea to start with and will only be a spectacularly stupid when he reaches New York.

_What the hell am I thinking? _

And yet, he could not help thinking that this was something he had to; something that he should have done long ago, but he never wished to interfere in the affairs of the Pendragon family.

But a long time ago, a young boy found the courage to speak to his grandfather and Lance's life had been the better because of what the boy and his friends did. It was not just a debt of gratitude…this was something that Lance felt he had to set right for Arthur. If Morgana had been here…

Lance smiled. Morgana would have stormed to Pendragon Industries and by the time she left, Uther Pendragon would not know what had hit him. Lance was not going to storm into anything. He did not know what he was going to do when he gets down from the taxicab. He knew the technicalities of the journey …what he did not know was how he was going to do it all. Courage, as it slipped, was taking away his strength as well.

Because going off to New York on a whim has not been in his schedule for the last four months or so. He had never left London all those times and now…this. And yet the thought of not going to New York is as bad as going to New York.

He did not know why he was taking it upon himself to do this…to fix this. He was not sure how Uther, or even Arthur, was going to react to this. He did not want to interfere…felt rotten for appearing like a busybody…but knew he had to this, for the sake of the remaining Pendragons.

That was just a part of the apprehension of leaving London. The other half….it felt more than that, this whole mix emotions, the weight of which he could almost physically feel weighing down upon him…was the fact that he would be far away from all that was familiar to him. He was familiar with New York, it was one of his and Morgana's favourite place to go, but it was not London. He would be putting the ocean between him and his friends. And Morgana. It was just for a couple of days at the most, but for all that it seemed to Lance, he might as well be worlds away from London.

"No…I…" Lance was at loss for words.

And suddenly, Lance did not have to tell Gwaine any of those things he was thinking of. Because Gwaine knows what Lance was going through. And he knew exactly how to push Lance's buttons. Feigning seriousness, he said, "Well, if you're not sure, I could always go…"

Unexpected relief, mingled with mirth and gratitude washed over Lance. He laughed. "I'm fine. I'll do this."

Gwaine, thankfully, did not ask for any assurance. He had enough belief in Lance to take his word for it. It was Gwaine's belief in him that spurred Lance on. "That's good," Gwaine said. And in much gentler tone, added, "You'll be alright, mate."

Lance sighed. Lance could the exit to the airport looming ahead. While the urge to ask the cab driver to turn around and send him home was still strong, he felt a bit of courage and strength returning. "I hope so," Lance remarked.

"Lilies, is it?"

Lance's breath caught. He swallowed a lump, blinking away the sudden wetness in his eyes. "And a stalk each of carnation and daffodil."

Gwaine must have nodded. "Okay. I'll take it to her tomorrow."

"Thank you, Gwaine." Lance's gratitude was not just for the flowers.

"I think she'll be happy to see me," Gwaine said and Lance could hear the smile in his voice.

"She will be, yeah." Of this, Lance was sure of.

"As much as she'll be happy knowing you're doing this," Gwaine's voice was quiet as he said this. Lance could only nod, articulation hindered by the dissolving lump in his throat. Gwaine then wished Lance luck with the journey, extracted promises of phone calls at every four hours and then rang off; claiming Lance was a right royal arse for not allowing him to come along to New York. Lance laughed (the laughter genuine and unforced), disconnected the call and clutched his mobile phone close to his heart. Gwaine's words were reverberating in his mind as he got down from the taxicab and stood outside the airport.

That was two hours ago. And now Lance stood at the boarding gates, waiting to get into the aircraft, doing that spontaneous thing he never thought he would think of, let alone do it.

And in his mind's eyes, he could see Morgana smiling her approval, tightening her hands around his arms, looking ahead for a sort-of adventure.

=X=X=X=


	30. Chapter 30

**Real life got in the way and as usual, real life was very persistent. I apologize. I am sad whenever I don't get to update…even sadder when chapters do not write themselves =)**

**To new friends and old. I have never loved Merlin more than I do today for bringing each of you into my life. Thank you for moving this story. Thank you for the friendship that has made my life so much richer. **

**This chapter is Merlin's. And he is not…doing what I hoped he would do. And while I have the chapter after next ready, the next chapter is not doing so well. So, the next update might take a while. I will try to make it as soon as I possibly can. **

**Reviews make me happy. If you are happy, send me a review. If you are not, send one anyway so I can fix whatever is it that is wrong. **

* * *

><p>Merlin and Gwaine walked in silence, each lost in their own contemplation. The only sound were the noises of the night; the distant rumble of vehicles, muted sounds from television and conversations from inside the houses, the click of their heels against the pavement…everyday, monotonous sounds that felt comforting to Merlin. The night was clear, the air crisp and cool; an evening worthy of what had been a glorious winter day.<p>

Of course, the weather itself cannot take full credit for the good day Merlin has had. If it was not for Morgause, Merlin would have endured another day of…nothingness, for that is what it felt most of the time, save when he was painting. He still cherished his time with his friends, but somehow it was not enough. It was not until he was sitting in Morgause's kitchen, laughing with Morgause as she told about something Morgana did some years back that Merlin realized the emptiness within him. It was there all the time, hollow and yet full of grief and sadness. It was not easy, but Merlin had never acknowledged it. In the presence on Morgause, he no longer felt the emptiness. Nor did he feel sad. He welcomed this feeling, as anyone would, he supposed. Because being happy, at least for a while, beats feeling sad all the time.

Being with Morgause made Merlin happy.

Morgause made Merlin happy. Made him think of happier things, like Christmas and remembering Morgana in a way that made him laugh rather than teary – eyed.

And because Morgause made him happy, Merlin felt responsible for her as well. This afternoon, her ex-husband had called up and told her that Nina had been snowed in at Glasgow, where she had been for the week with his new girlfriend. There was a brief argument, snippets of which Merlin could hear from the living room (he had slipped out of the kitchen when the argument started) even though he was trying not listen, busying himself to unravelling the tinsel that had become knotted. From what Merlin could discern, Morgause was very much enraged by the fact that she might not be able to see her daughter until Boxing Day. Then there was no sound for almost a minute or so…

Before he heard the crash of porcelain plates and cups and silver cutlery hitting the floor. Merlin stood in the living room, unmoving, his eyes fixed on the door that lead to the kitchen. He swallowed, wondering why he felt fear when he did nothing wrong. He swallowed when the door opened moments later and Morgause walked out.

No emotions betrayed her expression, but the hurt and heartbreak was evident in her eyes; the best of her feature, the most difficult to capture in his mind (every time he looks at her, he knows that the three paintings in his studio have somehow missed something). Her eyes, the clearest of blue when she is happy, were the darkest of grey as she looked at him at from across the room.

That was when Merlin decided that he must make her happy again.

That is what friends do, do they not? Make each other happy? Wipe out the sorrows, mend broken hearts?

They did not talk much, each going back to their tasks; Merlin had the tree to decorate while she was wrapping the presents. They worked in silence for almost half an hour before Morgause told him what had transpired during the phone call from Cenred. It was as Merlin had surmised. Another round of silence followed soon after. As the day gave way to the evening, Merlin decided that he had nothing to lose.

Merlin suggested dinner. He had known what her plans were going to be if he had left her; she had brought out a bottle of whiskey from the cupboard in the kitchen. Merlin was sure he would be of more help than alcohol. She never talked about what she felt, but her eyes were truly the mirror of her soul. Whatever she felt, she never let it show, but her eyes always told a different story. For those who did not know her, her blue eyes were icy cold. Merlin…well, he did not know her so well, but he would like to think that he had gotten to know her in the past two months or so. Not so well as to decipher what every shift in her eyes meant, but well enough to know that her eyes always seemed defensive for those who did not know her. For those who did, they saw something else in the cerulean depths. There was warmth and laughter, as well as concern. All inevitably closed off and veiled by her seemingly ice cold demeanour. She never gave much indication that she cared what people thought of her, an aloof indifference that gave the impression that she was a snob…or even worse.

She agreed to dinner, rather reluctantly. But that was only because Merlin would not listen to her when she said she had a million things to do.

Dinner was good; at least Morgause said it was as Merlin was not fond of any Italian food not prepared by Guinevere. The company however could have been better. Gwaine was inexplicably withdrawn, not talking much to either Merlin or Morgause. He pushed his food around on his plate, preferring wine over pasta. He cheered up considerably when the waiter appeared with their bill, for which he paid for, ignoring Merlin's protests. He did not talk much on their drive back to Morgause's house; Morgause drove, with Merlin on the passenger's seat next to her and Gwaine, a sullen presence in the back seat.

Morgause insisted on dropping them off at Gwaine's house, but Merlin said they would be fine walking the distance of less than two hundred metres from her house to Gwaine's. Gwaine waited for Merlin to say his goodbyes to Morgause at her front door, his back pointedly turned at them. Merlin looked at Morgause, trying to find a way to apologize and to convey his regret at an evening that was less than stellar. Morgause had smiled at Merlin, and before he could speak, leaned forward and kissed his cheek.

"Thank you, Merlin," she had told him, as she drew away from him.

"I don't know if I deserve any thanks," Merlin began, but Morgause took his hand into his, shaking her head.

"You have my gratitude nonetheless," she said, squeezing his hand. "I had a great evening."

Merlin had smiled, but he knew it would have been one of those awful beams he was so prone to, but at that point, it did not matter. What mattered was her hand around his.

Merlin could still feel the warmth and the pressure of her hand on his. He walked in a daze, recalling every moment of the evening; trying to capture her nuance and gestures, trying to relive the moment just one more time. And it took Gwaine calling Merlin's name more than once to get him snap out of his reverie.

"Merlin?"

Merlin looked at Gwaine, blinking, wondering what they were doing in front of Gwaine's house when just moments ago, he had been standing with Morgause on her porch.

And then it came to him, a stream of memories; the evening at the restaurant, the drive home, the kiss on the porch, her blue eyes, her sad smile…

And then the revelation that felt as if it had been a part of him for so long that he never realized it.

"I love her."

The words stumbled out of his mouth as Merlin looked at nothing in particular. His eyes were on the wrought- iron fleur-de-lis that decorated the small gate in front of Gwaine's house, but the image registered in his mind were that of Morgause and him laughing in her living room, surrounded by the debris of Christmas decorations.

"Oh." Gwaine was standing at the short stone pathway that led to the steps on his porch. "Of course you do."

Gwaine's response caused Merlin to look at his friend, fully alert now. He frowned as he regarded Gwaine, wondering of Gwaine was joking. Because this was not a joking matter. Merlin had genuine feelings for Morgause.

"What do you mean?" Of course Gwaine would not understand what Merlin felt.

"I understand why you would say that you love her," Gwaine said, shrugging. They were both at the foot of the stone steps leading to Gwaine's front door. Gwaine was looking at Merlin, one hand in the pocket of his jeans. The expression on his face was a mixture of defiance and disappointment...why he would be feeling that was a mystery to Merlin.

"I am not just saying that…" Merlin began, but Gwaine interrupted him.

"Still a virgin, aren't you, Merlin?" Gwaine asked, his casual tone on the verge of sneering. "Saying that you love the lonely, recently divorced woman…quite easy on the eyes, if you are into snow-queen-alpha-bitch types, is a brilliant way to get laid…"

There was a rush of noise, like waves crashing against rocks. "Don't you ever…" Merlin heard himself saying, over the roaring.

It was only when he felt the sting on his hand did Merlin realized what he had done. Gwaine was doubled over and when he straightened up, Merlin saw that his lips had split. Blood was streaming down from his nose. In his mind's eye, Merlin saw himself taking a step towards Gwaine, horrified at what he had done, but in reality, he took a step backwards, disgusted, turning away from the man he regarded as his best friend.

Morgause was standing just outside the gate, Merlin's battered backpack in her hands. She was looking at Merlin and then over his shoulder at Gwaine. Her eyes were wide, indicating her shock, whether at the sight of Merlin punching Gwaine or at what she had heard Merlin speak. She put the backpack by the gate slowly and looked at Merlin again.

A single tear fell from her eye.

She turned and left. And at the same time, Merlin heard the front door slam. He did not have to turn around to know that Gwaine was no longer outside his house.

Merlin picked up his backpack, glanced at the Gwaine's house, still and silent and knew that Gwaine was behind the door. He did not want to see Gwaine. He glanced to his left and saw a sliver of light at Morgause's front door as she opened it to let herself in. And then darkness.

Alone.

And it is all Gwaine's fault. Merlin picked up a stone that was part of the landscaping detail on his front yard and threw it at a window. The glass broke with a satisfying crash. He walked away.

He walked past Morgause's house, despite the fact he could hear his own voice screaming in head to fix this…to check on Morgause and see if she was allright. And apologize for the things Gwaine had said.

As well as what he had said.

She knows he loves her; what he was not sure was how Morgause felt knowing this.

There was much Merlin had to think about.

And none of them involved an apology to Gwaine…who has ruined his happiness.

=X=X=X=


	31. Chapter 31

**Yes. Real life. It happened. I had to oblige. **

**And the absence of inspiration…well, that happened as well. **

**Let me know how this is…the Muses will forever be grateful. **

****A big thank you to Justine. ** I owe you one, girl =)  
><strong>

**Thank you for reading. A hug and cookie for all of you. **

* * *

><p>"<em>That can't be true."<em>

_ Morgana raised an eyebrow as she took a sip of from her glass of red wine. _

_ "Gwaine likes girls." Guinevere tried to sound as if she was trying to believe it herself. And she wondered why she was whispering and could not help feeling just a little guilty that she was gossiping about a friend with another friend. _

_ The girls were sitting at the breakfast bar that separated the tiny living room from the miniscule kitchen of their digs. They had spent much of the day packing their things; getting to ready to move out. The only things remaining to be packed were the television set, the DVD player and some crockery. Movie night will mark the last evening spent at the flat. _

_ "He does," Morgana said, putting down her glass on the table before her. "He also happens to like boys as well."_

_ "I've…" Guinevere opened her mouth to say something but was interrupted by Morgana. _

_ "Well, more Merlin than any other boy." This was stated in a very a matter of fact way. _

_ "I don't believe you," Guinevere said, frowning and taking a drink from her own glass of wine. _

_ Morgana grinned, biting her lower lips, eyes lighting up with mischief. "Glad you said that, duckie, because now, it is time for an experiment."_

_ Guinevere was horrified. "Morgana…" There was a warning tone in her voice that went unheeded as Morgana turned in her seat and called out for Gwaine, who was in the midst of giving hearty slaps to the television set in order to make it work one last time this evening. So far, it seemed to be working. _

_ "Gwaine? What are we watching tonight?"_

_ Gwaine looked up from the television set, pushing his hair out of his eyes. "Muppets From Space. Merlin said he's never seen it."_

_ Morgana acknowledged his answer with a nod and turned her back to the living room again. She leaned in closer. "See?"_

_ "What am I supposed to be seeing?"_

_ Morgana groaned, rolling her eyes. She loved experiments, but explanations were another kettle of fish all together. Besides, the conclusion of her recent experiment had been rather obvious. "It's Gwaine's choice for movie night and he picks Merlin's choice."_

_ It was Guinevere's turn to roll her eyes. "You chose the movie when it was my turn last week…and on Arthur's turn. And on Lance's turn."_

_ "But that is only because I am THAT persuasive," Morgana said, shrugging. _

_ "Maybe Merlin is persuasive as well," Guinevere replied. "Seriously, Morgana. Can you say no to Merlin? Can ANYONE say no to Merlin?"_

_ Morgana dismissed the point with a wave of her hand, the one that was holding the glass of wine. "I am telling you Gwaine is harbouring a massive crush on Merlin." She took a drink from her glass. _

_ "Gwaine is dating that kindergarten teacher. And before that he dated the dental hygienist," Guinevere pointed out, counting with her fingers. Seriously, if she were start listing out the women Gwaine has dated, she would run out of fingers. _

_ Morgana scoffed, waving her hand again. "No real feelings there. He never talks about them."_

_ "It's not as if we have sat down and discussed about the women he's dated. That would be weird." Guinevere said, hoping that it would not come to that. _

_ "No. My guts are right," Morgana said, sounding quite determined despite how strange her words sounded. _

_ "Right about what, love?" Lance came to over the breakfast bar, looking for a top up for his empty glass of wine. _

_ "Gwaine liking boys." Morgana sounded casual and Guinevere just wanted to go and hide somewhere. _

_ "Gwaine? Boys?" Lance said, reaching for the bottle on the bar. He seemed unfazed…but then again, nothing about Gwaine fazed them since they were ten. He poured out a measure into his glass and then looked up, appearing contemplative. "Not really. Not since Percival."_

_ Guinevere looked at Morgana, smiling triumphantly. Her smile dimmed somewhat when Lance leaned forward and added, "But Gwaine and Merlin…there might be something going on there."_

_ Morgana shouted in triumph. Arthur, who had been slumped on the sofa, been diligently texting on his mobile phone, looked up from his phone, a deep frown on his face. Merlin, seated on the sofa, carried on eating his chips, moving over to middle when Gwaine (who had finished 'fixing' the TV) picked up a beer from the coffee table and settled down next to him. _

_ "Why do you say that?" Guinevere asked, as the three of them stood up and made their way to the various sofas and armchairs in front of the television. _

_ "He let Merlin choose the movie." _

_ Guinevere rolled her eyes._

=X=X=X=

It had rained after midnight, turning snow into slush but surprisingly, the sun fought back and Sunday dawned bright and brilliant. There was still the chill of winter and snow was melting, but it was a glorious day as Saturday had been. It was ten minutes past ten and Guinevere was in the flat, enjoying the view with her morning cup of tea.

Arthur was in his working area, the bit of space in the flat that he had converted into his office and home gym. He rarely uses it, preferring the workout of playing football and running, but since his accident there had been neither. His doctor, however, had given him the go ahead for upper body strengthening as well as basic workout for his legs. It was said upper body that Guinevere was now viewing and very much appreciating.

But of course, she would not ogle at him openly; that simply would not do. She sat on the sofa facing him, her legs tucked up under her, her mug of tea cooling on the coffee table in front of her. She had the newspaper open, but she paid no heed to the printed words there, preferring to look over it, in a covert manner, to her man who was working out sans his shirt and a pair of sweat pants with the right amount of cling to it.

Guinevere, of course, has seen Arthur less clothed than he was at the moment, but nothing beats watching her man working out. He had his back to her and she could see, from the reflection on the window, his intense expression, as he sat on the bench, doing shoulder exercises with using the dumbbells. Each time he raises the dumbbells, the muscles in his and shoulders strain with the effort, and as he lowers it to shoulder level…

"Perhaps we should have a party. To announce our engagement."

"Perhaps you should take it off."

The dumbbells paused momentarily in mid-air. It was then that Guinevere realized she had spoken something that had nothing to do with what Arthur had said. She could feel the warmth of a blush creeping up her neck. She retreated behind her newspaper.

Arthur turned to face her, lowering the dumb bells. This gave Guinevere a legitimate reason to look at Arthur's pecs. If she were questioned on which part of Arthur she loved best, it would be a toss between his pecs and his…

"What's that, my love?" he asked, setting his dumbbells aside and getting up from the bench. He grabbed a towel hanging on his treadmill and came towards her.

"Nothing," Guinevere said, hoping against hope that whatever she thought she had said was in her mind. Because it would not do for Arthur to know that she was into watching him work out half naked.

"Really?" Arthur asked, looking concerned. His blue eyes were lit up with mirth and mischief. "You said something. I am sure of it."

"I did not," Guinevere said, turning back to her paper. And to emphasize that, she reached for her cup and drank her tea and tried not to gag when cold tea hit her taste buds.

"Anything interesting in the paper?"

"The usual. Get back to your work out. You said you needed a full hour and it's just twenty minutes."

"You would like that, wouldn't you?"

Guinevere scoffed. She looked up at Arthur, now standing very close to her sofa, almost looming over her, a towel around his neck, held in place by his hand holding on to each end of it. "I'm reading the newspaper, Arthur."

Arthur looked at Guinevere, and Guinevere wished he would not do that. Because there was this crooked smile playing on his lips, one that begged for a kiss. And him standing there sweating, looking all manly…Guinevere was beginning to think that another set of work out would do the both of them a whole lot of good instead of him bench pressing by himself.

"Developing a new set skill set along with it, I suppose?" Arthur asked, coming towards Guinevere.

Guinevere, perfectly aware that he was about to kiss her, could not help being confused. Before she could ask Arthur what he was talking about, Arthur swooped down and kissed her forehead.

"Paper's upside down, darling," he whispered in her ears; each word a proposition…or so it seemed to Guinevere, one hand on the side of her face, the pad of his thumb lightly stroking her temple. Before Guinevere could react, Arthur had straightened up, laughing.

Guinevere, surprised at statement, looked down at the newspaper on her lap and sure enough, it was upside down. "How long have you known?" she asked, as Arthur went back on his gym bench and picked up his dumb bells again.

"Long enough for me to overcome feeling violated and then doing another four sets of the work out, as a reward for you," Arthur replied, grinning.

Guinevere wanted to say something but the phone rang at that moment, its shrill ringing a welcome distraction. She folded the newspaper (which had been of no help to her) and picked up the phone by the entertainment cabinet.

"Hello?"

"Good morning, Miss Leodegrance."

"Baxter?" Guinevere asked, to be certain, though she recognized the quiet, calm and deeply assuring voice.

"Yes, Miss," the butler replied. Guinevere could picture him, his back ramrod straight and no expression whatsoever on his face as he spoke through the telephone in the kitchen of Gwaine's townhouse. She could not help the worry that came with hearing Baxter's voice. A few weeks after Gwaine first moved into the house, Guinevere had received a phone call from Baxter informing her that Gwaine and Morgana had tried their hands in making crepe Suzette. The result had been a partial renovation of the kitchen, Gwaine getting a new haircut (the ends of his hair got singed) and Morgana without a left eyebrow. Naturally, the two would-be chefs declared their experiment a success. The rest of them had not been amused.

"Is there something wrong?" Guinevere asked, trying to keep the worry from her voice. She wondered if Merlin and Gwaine had been up to something involving fire.

"I am afraid there is, Miss," Baxter replied. And then told the events that had transpired the evening before…the events that he knew of course, which was a brief but intense argument between Gwaine and Merlin at the front of the house, culminating in Merlin throwing a brick through a downstairs window and Gwaine locking himself up in the informal sitting room. "Master Gwaine had not left the living room since last night when he got back. He has been drinking and may still well be drinking."

The plea for help was subtle but it was there. This was a job for friends not household staff. Guinevere said she will at Gwaine's house in another twenty minutes or so. Baxter rang off with an apology to have inconvenienced Guinevere and then, quite uncharacteristically, added the hope, "Do not think badly of the young master, Miss. He's…"

Guinevere did not need to be told of this. "I know, Baxter," she said, her voice gentle. "Don't worry. Arthur and I will be there as soon as we can."

At the mention of Baxter's name, Arthur had abandoned his dumb bells. He was standing next to Guinevere, trying to keep his worry in check. He looked at Guinevere, expectantly, quite possibly hoping that Baxter was delivering invitations for lunch and not some dire news about Gwaine.

"It's Gwaine and Merlin," Guinevere said. "Apparently they had an argument."

"Merlin and Gwaine?" Arthur asked, worry replaced with incredulity. "An argument? About what? Sandwich filling? What movie they want to…"

"Merlin punched Gwaine…" Guinevere said quietly.

Arthur was stunned into silence. The thought of dismissing it as a joke probably had not occurred to him because as much as the guys argue, they had never been physical about it. They do horse around; headlocks and twisting of the arms has been established as legitimate means of communication amongst them. But Merlin punching Gwaine…that was unthinkable. Probably Baxter got it wrong.

Arthur went towards Merlin's studio. The door was slightly ajar, indicating that Merlin was in and that he was not painting. They were not aware that Merlin was in the flat, having gotten used to his irregular hours and habits. The fact that he was missing the whole of yesterday, though did worry Guinevere a bit, was not cause for much concern as he was prone to disappear and reappear whenever he was feeling particularly inspired. Usually one of them would keep tabs on him and since no phone calls or alerts came regarding Merlin, Guinevere assumed (as the others did, she was sure) that he was probably just off painting somewhere.

Arthur hesitated in front of Merlin's door and turned to Guinevere. He looked as if he was contemplating something. "I'll talk to Gwaine," he said, trying not to look as worried as he sounded. "He's probably drunk and…I'll talk to Gwaine."

Guinevere could not help but to be proud of Arthur. As well as be awed by the bond he shares with his friends. Gwaine could be quite a handful when drunk, but Arthur was loyal enough to his friend not to say anything against him. She smiled and kissed his cheek before going into the kitchen to get a cup of tea for Merlin, leaving Arthur to get ready to go to Gwaine's house.

Merlin's studio was gloomy, the sunlight coming through the partially drawn curtains. The studio ran the length of the flat; Arthur had the flat renovated before moving in, soundproofing the walls (Merlin's musical tastes can be eclectic and at times, even interesting. Luckily though, Arthur had the foresight to know what _Death Cab for Cutie_ or traditional Aboriginal music at full blast at two in the morning could do to flatmates and neighbours), installing a sink, French windows and cabinets, as well as keeping it out of the way to the rest of the living space in the flat. It was Merlin's private sanctuary and he sleeps in there more than he does in his own room, preferring the hammock Gwaine and Arthur made for him rather than his own bed.

Guinevere loved Merlin's studio, not only for the artwork in it, but for the glimpse it gave to the working of Merlin's mind. In one corner, his collection of vintage toys, handed down from his late father, lovingly maintained, still in good use and quite possibly worth a mint. In another, his collection of books on shelves that Lance and Morgana helped him to put up (because the drill, as much fun as it was, was hardly a tool that should be left alone with Merlin), ranging from _Harry Potter_ to _Anna Karenina_ to _The Hobbit_, as well as his comic book collection. One wall was dedicated to their exploits; photographs taken at every trip, special occasions as well as candid shots. Three walls were for his own art, his amazing talent shining through every magical brush stroke. The artwork always changed, pieces were sold or given away or Merlin replaced them with more recent work. Merlin would hold a tri-annual 'viewing' in the studio, the only time all of them were allowed into the studio at the same time (on normal days, Merlin allows one of them, maybe two is the other person is persistent and Merlin was in a good mood, but never all of them at the same time. Needless to say, those outside their circle has never seen the inside of his studio, not even his most trusted art dealer). It has been a while since the last 'viewing' and Guinevere saw that there was not much change to the walls, some new paintings as well as some still in progress (Merlin can work on three different painting when he was particularly inspired). The whole room was dominated by a long table, where Merlin keeps his 'mess' of things; jars of paint and pigment, water colour tubes, a variety of brushes soaking in turpentine jars, sketchbooks, charcoals and so many other artistic things that Guinevere could not even name let alone state its function.

She found him standing near a window, staring out into the less than charming view of the side alley between their building and the next. She came to stand next to him wordlessly and handed him the mug of tea she had made for him. She had almost been afraid he would ignore it, but Merlin took the mug from her. They looked at the empty side alley.

"I didn't mean to hurt him."

Merlin's quiet voice broke the silence. He was looking at Guinevere; bloodshot eyes revealing lack of sleep as well tear that had been shed.

Guinevere's maternal instinct kicked into gear and she closed the gap between them, taking Merlin's hand into hers. And without any prompting, Merlin told her everything. From how much he missed Morgana to Morgause's pathetic Christmas tree (a pathetic tree was better than no tree at all, and Guinevere found herself agreeing with him). He told her about feeling needed again and how much he loved to see Morgause smile. Guinevere refrained from asking any questions; she knew that Merlin will tell her everything, in his own roundabout manner. All she needed to do was listen and be there for Merlin.

Because hearing Merlin speak, Guinevere realized that while Arthur and Guinevere had each other and their new relationship to distract them from the loss of Morgana, Merlin was not so fortunate. Lance was grieving in his own way and Gwaine refuses to talk about Morgana and that had left Merlin all by himself. And when Morgause, Morgana's sister, walked into his life, offering him an emotional sanctuary (quite possibly without meaning to in the first place), Merlin had…

Found a new friend. Albeit someone he already knew, but there it was.

Merlin had just been lonely.

And no one asked him how he was after losing Morgana.

"I love her the way I love you, Guinevere," Merlin said. They were now sitting cross legged on the floor, facing each other, Guinevere holding on to Merlin's hands.

Guinevere smiled, ignoring the stab of jealousy she felt. She had no right; she was guilty of being around enough for Merlin, but she could not help herself.

"Well, not as much as I love you, of course," Merlin said, more of confirming the facts than at any attempt to make Guinevere feel better. "It's more like…a _like_ sort of love."

Guinevere nodded. She wondered if it was a crush, when Merlin continued. "It's not as if I want to marry her or anything. I just…I just…"

Guinevere squeezed Merlin's hand. "I understand, Merlin," she said.

It was a crush. At least, that is what Guinevere thinks.

What else could trigger such an aggresive reaction?

And of course, there were the three oil paintings of her; all profiles and all capturing the various ranges of emotions as only Merlin and his brush were capable of. The paintings were still on their easels, partly obscured by the white sheet Merlin usually uses to cover any work he was not ready to show to anyone...almost as if he was trying to hide it. There was no doubt about the loveliness of the pictures; Guinevere had never seen Morgause more gorgeous than she was in the paintings. And of course, this brought on another stab of jealousy.

"And when Gwaine said those things…" Merlin said, shaking his head, as if trying to dislodge the memory from his mind.

"I'm sure he did not mean it," Guinevere offered. It was the truth, she was certain this. Gwaine often lets his mouth run but he would never deliberately hurt his friend.

"I know," Merlin said, looking away from Guinevere. He sighed. "I think I broke his nose."

Guinevere kept her reaction to a minimal raise of her eyebrows.

"Is…Is Morgause really that important to you now, Merlin?"

Merlin was looking at nothing in particular. He seemed distracted. "I…"

"Sweetie, you know you can tell me whatever is on your mind," Guinevere said, touching the side of Merlin's face.

Merlin put his hand above Guinevere's. He looked at Guinevere, his expression a mix of holding back two very different emotions. He looked as if he was going to cry and laugh at the same time.

"All I can think about, Guinevere," Merlin began and faltered as a single tear fell from his eyes. Once he realized this, Merlin took a moment to compose himself. "All I can think of is what Gwaine is thinking of me right now, for putting the brick through his window."

Guinevere giggled, unable to help herself. Merlin frowned and then, he too burst out laughing. And crying. Guinevere pulled him into a hug, stroking the back of his head, gently.

She could ask what he wanted to do regarding Morgause. But she already knew that what Merlin had said reflected what was genuinely in his mind and heart.

It was Gwaine he was worried about.

It was Gwaine who dominated his thoughts.

And everything, though not quite right, was almost alright again.

=X=X=X=


	32. Chapter 32

_**Warning : A long-ish chapter. And Gwaine's chapter, so there is bound to be more than a couple of F-bombs. My sincerest apologies. **_

_**Reviews make me happy. Very happy. **_

_**Merlin belongs to all of us. I think we have borrowed it to the BBC…yeah, it's the heat wave. Making me all sorts of delusional. **_

* * *

><p>The last time Gwaine looked at the clock it showed six minutes past midnight. It must have been last night, but he was not sure.<p>

But then again, he did not care.

He ceased caring sometime last evening, when he was subjected to the worst possible dinner engagement a person could endure.

No. That was not it.

No one subjected him to anything. Gwaine remembers that bit clearly…one of the things (among many)…that no amount of whiskey or scotch or wine could erase.

His body had already been saturated with alcohol from the afternoon. And then, he drank a bit more at dinner. And after he came home last night, drinking seemed to be most logical thing to do. He was certain that he might just drown in alcohol; that had made him laugh, and surprisingly hastened him to down his drink and pour out another shot.

He had no idea what day he was and he had lost count of the bottles by the time he finished the stock in his bar and shouted for Baxter to deliver more from the cellar. The world was completely lost to him; his own little space on the sofa was all he was aware of.

That and the faint shadow of a charcoal smudge on the sofa covers. The smudge (no amount of scrubbing would remove the stain, Gwaine had told Mrs Baxter to leave it as it is, much to her horror and dissatisfaction) was a crime against the pristine creaminess of the brocade fabric. The smudge was a reminder of times when things were less complicated…and Merlin curled up on the sofa beside him, snoring.

Like the masochistic fool (something that Gwaine was not unaware of until very recently) he was, Gwaine sat on the sofa, the smudge beside him, feeling foolish and sad and angry and very much like the scum at the bottom of a pond. Surprisingly though, the more he drank, the more he remembered and perhaps he should have just stopped, but he was too drunk to realize this (a wonderful excuse that has gotten him off plenty of terrible situation before) and just continued to supply his body with more alcohol. He was so saturated with alcohol that there was a possibility he might just spontaneously combust if he came into contact with heat.

He ignored his household staff, save for Baxter, whom he called for when the bottles inevitably went empty. Food was brought in at intervals and taken out again, untouched. The curtains remained drawn, the lights off. Gwaine preferred it that way. The darkness around him was similar to the darkness he felt within him. Sometimes he seethed in anger, sometimes he cried. And there were the blessed moments when alcohol overwhelmed his senses and he felt nothing, but these moments were easily outdone by the taste of copper in his mouth; he bites his lips and blood flows. And then he becomes aware of the emptiness within him and how it was eating its way outwards.

He had lost a friend.

Gwaine had lost Merlin.

The emotions, the thoughts, the pain and the blood were cyclic. It was to stop this cycle that he drank. That was his excuse anyway.

He just wanted the pain to stop. He just wanted to forget. Alas, the gods of alcohol and wine had no mercy on one their most devout disciple, for this time, they did not heed his call.

And in a cruel twist of fulfilling his wish to be rescued, to be saved from all this pain, the Universe sent him Arthur Pendragon.

Like the saviour he must have thought he was, Arthur blazed into the room…well, sort of limped in a very determined manner, anyway…and threw open the curtains, letting the brilliant afternoon in (Gwaine could never get too drunk to know the position of the sun and how it lights up every room in his house at any given time of the day) before turning to Gwaine and declaring in that haughty voice of his, "You look like crap."

If Gwaine could, he would have cried. Because the sun was so bright and he had shut it out for God only knows how long and it was only when he saw Arthur that he realized that he was afraid he might have been stuck in the darkness and all that he would have done about it was to just drink and drink and drink.

But of course, Gwaine would not cry. Not in front of Arthur. Not even when he felt the lump rising in his throat, so glad, so happy Arthur was here because as much as he wanted to remain in the darkness, he realized he wanted to be saved.

"Now you know better than me that THAT is damn well near impossible," Gwaine replied, squinting as he looked in the general direction of where Arthur was standing. Or at least he thought it was Arthur before he realized he was looking at the armoured knight wearing the Huntingdon family crest.

"That's it." Arthur was much closer to Gwaine than he had anticipated. Arthur removed the tumbler of whiskey in his hand, still half full. Gwaine's whole body, his muscle and reflex systems were too soaked in alcohol to put up even the slightest resistance against Arthur. "Get up. Get yourself sorted out." Arthur stood before him, looming over him like some sort of deity, with the sunlight streaming in from behind him.

"Go away and leave me to wallow in peace." Gwaine was quite happy he managed to remember this bit of dialogue, even though his speech was a little slurred. The room spun, so Gwaine decided that it was a bad idea to turn his head in any direction.

"Can't," Arthur said, his voice a matter-of-fact. "This is an intervention," Arthur declared.

While he wanted to thank Arthur for coming to his aid, all that came out of his mouth was, "I don't need you to save me, Arthur Pendragon. You can't bloody save everyone." It was as if his brain and mouth belonged to different entities with different agenda lined up for him; the former was all about self-preservation while the latter was excellent in getting people to alienate him…to hurt people with a graceless effort.

Arthur looked at Gwaine momentarily. "True," he remarked. "But I can save your household staff from the horrors of an unwashed Gwaine." Arthur moved away to put the glass and the bottle of whiskey he had confiscated from Gwaine on a side table far away from his reach.

"Funny." Gwaine said, wincing as his eyes got the full on assault of the morning sunlight. Gwaine moaned and lay back on the sofa, shielding his eyes from the bright light.

"That's what I thought too." Arthur's tone of voice indicated delight. "Come on, you stubborn old mule," Arthur said, putting a hand on Gwaine's shoulder and squeezing it, his voice gentle.

Gwaine groaned and straightened up. And collapsed back almost immediately on the sofa when his eyes came into direct contact with sunlight. He winced as he lied down with his head on the armrest, eyes closed. "Calling me animal names will not hurt me," he told Arthur, as he removed a cushion from his back. "And you should not insult animals like that…it's unethical."

Arthur chuckled. "Don't worry, mate," Arthur said, quite deliberately, Gwaine was sure, tapping the floor with his walking stick. The sound rang thunderously around the room and in Gwaine's head. "The last thing I intend to do is to call a mule Gwaine."

"There is an insult there somewhere," Gwaine said, a hand over his forehead. "I'll deal with that when I am fully sober." It was a rare occasion indeed for Gwaine's mouth to heed his brains. Perhaps the mouth realized the folly of arguing with a man wielding a walking stick.

"I look forward to that." Arthur's voice sounded nearer than Gwaine was thought possible. He wondered where Arthur was and risked cracking an eyelid open. Before he could register the surprise of having Arthur's face looming over his, Arthur exclaimed, "Seriously, mate. Did Merlin do that to you?"

Gwaine pushed Arthur away from him. The last thing he needs is a scrutiny of his injuries. Not that it deterred Arthur in any way, who showed his sympathies by laughing. Gwaine groaned again, reaching for a cushion to cover his face.

The sound of laughter subsided and Gwaine wondered of Arthur had left. He opened his eyes and saw Arthur at the door to the sitting room, taking a tray from Baxter who was standing outside the room. His butler's face was a mask of indifference…a face made for championship poker. Arthur moved away from the door and came towards the sofa again, carrying the tray laden with the silver coffee service (which Gwaine had always thought to be way too posh when he was sober and just plain ridiculous for a man hung over…but that is Baxter. Keeping up appearances for the sake of the master of the house because even though Arthur had seen Gwaine at his worst, he was a still guest in _casa del du Bois_). Before he could protest, Arthur was sitting next at the edge of the sofa next to him. The strong smell of Dettol began to permeate in the air as Arthur worked the bottle and tipped it over a cotton gauze. He put the bottle aside and brought the gauze towards Gwaine, who glared at him, challenging him to move another inch. Arthur's face remained neutral, but he did pick up his walking stick from the floor.

"You would hit me because I did not allow you my treat my wounds?" Gwaine said, pulling himself up on his elbows and then unto a sitting position, with his back on the armrest of the sofa.

"Don't be such a baby, mate," Arthur replied, rolling his eyes. He waited until Gwaine was comfortable and dabbed the cotton gauze on his lips. Gwaine's hands tightened around the cushion as the sting of the disinfectant seared his lips. It must have been worse than he initially thought, if the serious look on Arthur's face was any indication. Arthur must have seen Gwaine's hand clutching the cushion. He turned away from Gwaine to get another piece of gauze.

"That's hardly a wound," Arthur said, his voice quite, his concern and worry discernible in his eyes. "I just want to spare Baxter the trouble of dealing with you getting ill due to an infection because you were too much of baby and could not stand a bit of a Dettol sting."

"You're an arse," Gwaine shot back. Arthur brought the gauze to his lips again and this time, Gwaine was ready for the sting.

"Charmed." Arthur kept his expression neutral as he worked on Gwaine's lips. Gwaine glanced at the gauze in Arthur's hand and was quite surprised to see the amount of blood he had cleaned away from the wound. Last evening he had dabbed at it using his handkerchief, but the wound must have opened again...he had felt the pain all evening as he drank, but it was easy to ignore this small sting when there were worse pain he was trying to deal with.

Arthur put the bloodied gauze on the table in front of them. He poured coffee into a china cup and handed it to Gwaine, who would have asked for the whole pot, but knew his body would not be able to tolerate any more liquid. Arthur handed the cup to Gwaine; the concern in his eyes were still discernible though he looked convinced that the wound was superficial. His whole demeanour seemed relaxed, allowing Gwaine to feel the same. Once again, Gwaine felt the absurd need to cry and knew he could probably get away with it by saying that he had a hangover and thus lost all control of his emotions…blame it on the alcohol, so to speak.

But then again, Gwaine was not one to hide behind flimsy excuses. It was better to retreat behind the walls constructed of self-depreciation, sarcasm and self-loathing, which are all further enhanced by his usual defensive mechanism of petty rudeness.

"Shut up, Arthur." Gwaine said it because he could hear the wheels and mechanisms of the Pendragon brain working to understand, to make sense, of the situation at hand as well as to deal with a wound that no doubt appeared more serious than it really is.

Of course Arthur was not going to shut up. Not when he knows there has been a conflict (Gwaine suspects Baxter must have made a discreet phone call; he was now unsure if he appreciated it or if he should give a piece of his mind –Gwaine style— to his butler and housekeeper). "Merlin gave you a split lip," Arthur said, looking at Gwaine, frowning. "What did you do?"

Gwaine, who was enjoying what was quite possibly the best cup of coffee ever made, momentarily wished that it was Lance who was sitting next to him. Not Arthur. Arthur was more brusque…subtlety and Arthur were as continents apart. Sometimes it was good. Other times…

"Why? So that you can pick a side?" His defence mechanism was in fine form, exerting control over his brains. Anger rose within him. He is the one nursing a bloody hangover, a split lip and tasting Dettol and blood in his mouth…meaning he is the victim. Why the fuck is he the one always getting blamed? Taking into consideration the fiasco of yesterday, Merlin has proven himself more than capable of fucking things up in an equally spectacular manner.

Arthur was not to be deterred. "No." Arthur's voice was a gentle tone that he rarely uses with Gwaine. "This is called 'being there for your friend'," he said. "Something I remember you excelling at."

Gwaine gave a snort of derision. He does not remember excelling at that. If he was as excellent as a friend Arthur thought he was, Gwaine would not be having this conversation with Arthur. He held his peace, not wanting to say anything; knowing that opening his mouth would only spew forth malice that neither Arthur nor their friendship deserved.

Arthur must have realized that the silence was headed towards one that is slowly becoming uncomfortable. "Well, in any case, I think you need me in your corner right now," Arthur declared, the mirth in his voice belying the concern that has not left his eyes. "Before this I used to think that Merlin is the one who needed protecting. But it seems I am mistaken."

Gwaine wondered why he suddenly felt like laughing when there was absolutely nothing funny about Merlin (his best friend) giving him a split lip. "You have no idea," Gwaine said, shaking his head, trying to dispel the image of Merlin looking at him as if he hated him (he probably did).

"And to think I used to say that Merlin threw a punch like a girl."

"That's it, get out." Gwaine threw a cushion at Arthur, who caught it in midair, laughing.

"Alright, alright. I was just…"

"Trying to make me feel worse than before?" Gwaine interrupted, hands crossed over his chest, trying his best not to pout, surprised at how easy it is to do so when one was sulking…angry. "Thank you very much. You are brilliant at it."

Arthur managed to stop laughing long enough to ask, "Should I be wallowing with you? Would that be more preferable?"

Gwaine frowned. "No," he replied, knowing that Arthur was not asking for suggestion, but threatening. "I do not want to wallow with you. You pout."

"And you sulk like a little girl." Arthur was in fine form that day.

"You know if Lance was here, he would be more helpful in actually trying to make me feel better," Gwaine told him. "All you've done is insulting me since you got here."

Arthur appeared contemplative. "Yes, he would have. But I reckoned you needed some tough love."

And for once, his mouth did not adhere to the stupid bit of his brain. "Appreciate it," he murmured, swallowing.

And of course, Arthur would milk it for all its worth. "What? I cannot hear you. Did you say something, Gwaine?"

"I said you are an arse."

"Takes one to know one." Arthur's reply was one of casual nonchalance. He patted Gwaine's leg, gesturing for him to get up so that he can sit more comfortably. Gwaine was reluctant to do this because it would bring his eyes in direct contact with the sunlight. And Arthur getting comfortable meant he was not leaving without answers. "So, what happened?" he asked as Gwaine moved his feet down to the floor and his body into a an upright position…sort of. He tried and when he slumped down on the sofa, he just gave up. Good posture was over-rated and for people who were sober or Arthur Pendragon.

"Merlin punched me in the face." Gwaine kept his answer succinct, struggling to keep the irrational side of his brain that wanted to tell Arthur to mind his own business…in a language that is not quite as polite.

"Well, we get that urge a lot, collectively and individually," Arthur said, which is not really helping Gwaine's control over his irrational side and keeping rude remarks and swearwords out of his conversation just this once (would have been amazing, really, as Gwaine thought about it. Here he was all emotionally fucked up and hung over and trying to maintain some semblance of civility. He wondered if there was a prize for it). "But seriously, mate. What happened?" This time Arthur's question sounded as serious as he looked.

"Morgause…" and that came out before he could think about it and suddenly Gwaine was angry all over again because he said her name out aloud.

"Yes?" Arthur said, when a suitable time of contemplation had passed. He was not goading Gwaine for information that much Gwaine knew. Arthur was not even being a busybody because it had been established long ago that such a concept did not exist within their group. He knew that Arthur and all of his friends (well, those who did not punch him last evening anyway) mean well. That they care for him. It sickened Gwaine to think that he deserved any of their concern for him, angered him because he had broken a code within their friendship…at the cost of losing Merlin.

"He…he said he loved her." Gwaine kept his voice low, his head bent to keep his gaze from the sun as well as from Arthur's.

"And?"

"I said…" Gwaine began and found himself unable to continue. To have come this far in this conversation was somewhat of a miracle in itself. But now, Gwaine just wanted a drink. "Oh, fuck it, mate. I don't want to talk about Morgause and Merlin." Because memories are being brought up and he did not want any of it, good or bad. "I don't want to talk about this."

"Why? What's wrong with Merlin saying he loves Morgause?"

God help the man, but Arthur was seriously confused. There were two ways to go about this, Gwaine reckoned.

And chose the easiest one.

"Because I am in love with Merlin." It was the first time he had said it aloud.

And somehow Arthur did not seem to get what Gwaine had told him, which rather offended Gwaine because he declaring aloud he loved Merlin was something monumental, life changing. The Earth should stop moving and whatnot. But Arthur seemed oblivious and it was by sheer luck that the walking stick was too far for Gwaine to reach. "I love Merlin too, mate. There's nothing…"

"Arthur, I don't just love Merlin," Gwaine said, putting the coffee cup back on the table in front of him. he turned to Arthur, trying to keep his expression neutral and hope that the quiet tone of his voice would make Arthur see that he was stating a fact. "I am in love with him."

Arthur was dismissive…one could say it was akin to being in denial…but Gwaine knew Arthur was not like that. A little clueless, maybe but no more harmful than that. "All of us do…" Arthur said, shrugging, a frown on his face indicating his incredulity towards Gwaine for stating the obvious. Gwaine did not say anything, he decided to let Arthur come to terms with what he had said in his own time. Moments later, it finally dawned on Arthur. "Wait…you're in love Merlin?" he asked, surprise very much evident in his voice and expression. " You LOVE love Merlin?"

"Yes. I love love Merlin." It was the truth and had been the only thing that mattered to Gwaine.

Somehow, Arthur was not convinced. Gwaine reckoned as much; this was not something he knew would be accepted immediately and with open arms. "That is bullshit. You love women."

"So you have surmised," Gwaine replied. "Have you ever seen me with a woman?"

Arthur scoffed. "Yes!" he exclaimed, his voice going up a range. "You flirt with all the women you come across. You dated that kindergarten teacher."

"I also dated Percy at uni," Gwaine reminded him, with a wan smile.

The reply took Arthur by surprise. "That was a phase." Arthur sounded as if he was convinced with what he was saying. "None of us were sober during the first year at uni," he said, nostalgic fondness (probably unintentional) creeping into his voice. "It's a miracle we got out of there alive."

"No. That was me…"

"So, you're gay." It was a statement of a fact. If Arthur could say it, then it meant that he finally understood…and have to come accept the truth before him.

"Bisexual." There was no need for the definitive description of who he is, it was not something Arthur was expecting as well, but Gwaine felt he had to let Arthur know this.

"And you've been in love with Merlin…" A question formed towards the end of the statement.

"For as long as I can remember, " Gwaine admitted, finding himself being able to smile after a long, long time. He could have stopped talking then, but he did not want to. "Realized it when we went to Switzerland for the first time." And he could not help himself as the memories came flooding back; Gwaine, nineteen, full of swagger, the world at his feet; Merlin, two years younger, reaching the peak of his growth spurt that seemed to have taken him from five feet nothing to a tall, gangly youth who seemed to be mainly built of elbows, two left feet (which was very endearing, except for the times when his elbows connected with any one of their ribs or sides) and the most divine set of cheekbones ever blessed on a mortal (straining against the pale porcelain skin, it was unnerving because it was not just as sexy as hell, it also made people feel the urge to feed Merlin). Gwaine was teaching Merlin how to ski when they both took a tumble down the kiddie-slope. They landed about ten feet apart, Gwaine being the first to recover and ran to Merlin, remembering how it had seemed his heart had stopped beating, his legs like lead as he rushed towards Merlin. Merlin was spread – eagled on the snow and it took a moment for Gwaine to realize that Merlin was actually making snow angels. He collapsed to the ground next to Merlin, laughing and knowing that he will never ever experience the happiness he felt at that moment (seeing Merlin alive, unhurt, and full of life and glee and child-like wonder) with anyone else but Merlin.

"Does anyone else know this?" Arthur's question snapped Gwaine from his reverie.

"Would that make any difference?"

Arthur shook his head. "No. I'm just asking."

"No one knows," Gwaine told him. not that he gave any one any reason to think that way. "People are happy assuming I am a serial dater. Or one for flagrant casual sex. You know I don't care for what people think of me. So I let them assume." He shrugged. "This keeps them from finding out that I love Merlin."

Gwaine could hear the thought processes in Arthur's mind as it worked everything out. "You are serious, aren't you?"

Gwaine rolled his eyes. "No, I like going around admitting I love my friends and I want to possess them in every way possible for a laugh."

"So, when Merlin said he loves Morgause…" Arthur gestured with his hands,

"I said some really stupid things."

"On a scale from one to ten, how bad is it?" Arthur asked, his expression serious.

Gwaine thought for a moment. And then, choosing the worse thing he could think of that Arthur could empathize with, he said, "A cross between Manchester City winning the title and the cancellation of Doctor Who sort of bad…" Arthur gasped, looking horrified. Gwaine was not done yet. "But I think this is even worse."

Arthur could have asked what he said, but he obviously respected Gwaine enough to know that talking about it will not be too conducive for Gwaine's mental well - being. "So, what are you going to do about it?"

That was easy question to answer. "Drink. And then drink some more. Quite possibly until I pass out. And then I'll wake up and drink some more."

"Excellent. That would definitely make things better, wouldn't it?" Arthur always has this annoying look on his face when he was being sarcastic. Gwaine turned away from him.

"Hell no," Gwaine remarked. "But I would be too drunk to notice that I have lost a friend and quite possibly the one person I love more than anything in the world."

And that was when Arthur suggested something utterly impossible. "You need to talk to Merlin."

"No. I'm fine being stupid."

"That is the most ridiculous thing I've heard," Arthur said. "And I should know ridiculous, I am friends with the whole lot of you."

"I'm glad I could oblige," Gwaine said, rolling his eyes. "Now go. I'm fine. I will survive this."

"I'm not going anywhere." It was said in quiet confidence. Gwaine wondered if he should be proud of Arthur for being so loyal, or laugh at him, because Gwaine did not really feel as if he deserved any loyalty or goodwill from anyone. Arthur poured out a cup of coffee for himself. "How did you deal with Merlin…you know..."

"What?"

Arthur shrugged, leaning back against the sofa. He took a sip of his coffee. "Merlin not…reciprocating?"

Gwaine groaned. "Mate, seriously?"

Arthur raised an eyebrow, looking at Gwaine above the rim of the cup as he drank his coffee.

Gwaine sighed, wondering why he was giving in…why he was answering the question. "It was easy to deal with the fact that I was crazy for him because Merlin had never shown any interest in anyone, man or woman. So, you know, I just…he was my friend. Having him as my friend was enough. That's how it has been for as long as I have known." And what an easy existence that had been; Merlin was safely asexual (or so he thought) and Gwaine was happy to have him around. Being Merlin's best mate was something he cherished more than being a barrister and his titles.

"And yet you played the field," Arthur said, gesturing with coffee cup. "Both sides of the field," he added, not unkindly.

Gwaine shrugged. Whatever choices he made, prior to last evening of course, he is not ashamed of them. "I am a man. I have my urges. I am not a bloody oak tree." And as an afterthought, could not help adding, "Or Merlin." It managed to prompt a smile from Arthur.

"Ever had a…thing for anyone else other than Merlin?" Arthur asked and Gwaine felt that he had to convey his congratulations to Arthur for making the question sound casual. Or being thick enough to actually think he had asked a casual question. It was times like this Gwaine wonders if he should pat Arthur on his back or punch him in the face…

Punching. The mere thought of it brought forth bile and nausea.

Gwaine swallowed, shaking his head, dispelling (and failing to do so) dark thoughts. He closed his eyes, saw Merlin's fist coming at his face, opened them again. "Sorry, mate. Never was into blondes." Gwaine grinned, clicking his tongue, pointing at Arthur. "And Guinevere and Morgana were like sisters to me."

"Okay."

And because rankling Arthur always made Gwaine happy, he could not help himself when he said, "But Lance, with his soulful eyes and the very epitome of tall, dark and handsome…"

Arthur's eye widened, probably horrified at the prospect of listening to Gwaine gush about one of their own. "Shut up. Please."

The sound felt strange to him, but it was good to laugh. "Idiot," Gwaine said. "It's always only been Merlin." He closed his eyes. The innocence…the cheekbones…

"And then…Morgause came into the picture."

Gwaine gritted his teeth, angry that the words could still cause him so much pain and hurt. "I just wanted to…hurt him," he said, fighting back stupid tears and swallowing a lump in his throat. "Because it hurt me worse than Merlin spending every other minute he has to spare with her."

"I'm sorry, mate." Arthur's voice was quiet. He sounded genuinely sorry. Gwaine was not sure if Arthur was empathizing with him. Or sympathizing the friendship was now lost.

"So am I." For everything, Gwaine thought to himself.

"Is there anything I can do?"

Gwaine looked at Arthur, surprised. He gave a nod, acknowledging the offer. "No, mate. I don't think so," he replied. "I screwed up. And this is beyond fixing."

Arthur sighed, nodding, probably realizing that he had run out of things to suggest and say. "Breakfast might help you feel better."

Gwaine's chuckle was laced with irony. "I doubt bacon strips and scrambled eggs would alter the fact that I am arse…don't add to that, mate, please."

Arthur chuckled and shook his head. For a few minutes, Gwaine and Arthur did not say anything; they just sat in comfortable silence. Gwaine's eyes inevitably went back to the bloody gauze on the coffee table before him. His eyes were transfixed on them, the contrast of his blood on the snow – white cotton, his thoughts far away and lost. He did not know how long he had been staring at the gauze when he heard the slight knock on the door to the sitting room. Both Arthur and Gwaine turned their heads towards the door, not bothering to straighten themselves up.

The door opened to reveal Baxter. His appraisal of his employer and the condition of the room was done in a single fleeting glance. If he felt relieved to see the master of the house in a slightly better state than he was last evening (even though it was not much of an overall improvement), he did not show.

"Sir," Baxter spoke. "Perhaps you would want to see this."

"What is it?" Gwaine asked, curious despite himself.

Baxter's response was to assume a Sphinx-like silence as he looked at Gwaine. And Gwaine's curiosity, that insatiable quirk of his, was sufficiently intrigued. Which contradicted with what his body wanted and that was to stay in this slumped position on the sofa until the dull thud at the back of his skull decide not to manifest itself as massive, king-of all-hangover-headache headache. Besides, standing up required some sort of balance and control, both of which Gwaine knew his body was lacking in.

"Are you sure you cannot tell me what it is?" Gwaine had to try this once; not that he had any conviction that he would have gotten anywhere with asking Baxter or subduing his curiosity.

"I believe that it something that you have to see to believe, Sir."

Gwaine groaned and slumped even deeper into the sofa. And then, powered by curiosity alone, Gwaine managed to haul himself out of the sofa and stand up. His legs were jelly-like in their strength and consistency, a conditioned triggered by disuse (for more hours than Gwaine could explain for) and alcohol. The room, however, remained unmoving, so Gwaine found himself able to walk….if lurching and ambling is another word for walk. His stockinged foot hit the leg of the table side table and he stubbed his big toe. Of course, that would not be enough punishment because the next step he took brought his shin in contact with the armchair leg. A stream of profanities in multiple languages followed, alongside the threat of 'throwing out every fucking furniture in this house'. Arthur was laughing, which was pretty much expected of him in these situations. Gwaine too did the only thing he would be expected to do in the situation…he turned around and gave Arthur the finger, which was replied with a nonchalant salute before Arthur got up from the sofa and fell in step behind Gwaine, as Baxter led them out. Arthur's choice to be at the back of the line out of the sitting room was deliberate; he was positioning himself so that he would be able to help if Gwaine fell or lost his footing.

Gwaine knew he did not deserve any of his friends. But he was glad, for all that he is, they stuck around. It meant that they had seen some good in worth all the trouble he puts himself (and them) through.

Baxter led them to the front of the house, into the unused living room that was Gwaine's office. When Baxter moved out of the way, Gwaine saw one of the squares in the tinted window was bright, offering a clear and sharp visuals of the outside view. The glass in the window had the misfortune of being in the way of the trajectory of the brick Merlin threw yesterday. Gwaine had not seen what had happened; he had come inside the house, leaving Merlin with Morgause on the outside. He stayed by the door for a moment, until he heard the glass crashing. That had brought Baxter and his wife out, prompting Gwaine to duck into the sitting room. Baxter later had come into the sitting room, with a brick in his hand, evidence of what Merlin had done. Gwaine had just tossed back his whiskey, relishing the burn of the liquid as it went down throat, masking the pain he felt at being on the receiving end of such hatred from Merlin. the memory of the sound of the breaking glass, of seeing the brick in Baxter's hand, brought forth anger and loathing, bile and nausea, causing the simple action of standing upright too much of a chore.

There was someone outside the window, muffled sounds of flower pots being scraped and soft conversation. Gwaine stepped forward, wondering what in the world was going on…

Merlin stepped into view outside the window, looking all solemn and serious as he held up a newspaper page, which looked as if it has been folded to the specification of the empty panel in the window. He placed the newspaper on the wood framing the panel, the pink tongue poking through the corner of his mouth an indication of his concentration to the task at hand.

Gwaine found himself unable to speak, just opening and closing his mouth in a fantastic imitation of a goldfish. Baxter had slipped out of the room, his job done and Gwaine could swear he saw his butler smiling to himself. Arthur stepped up to the window and gave the ledge a knock using his walking stick. Merlin looked up just then, and since he was faced with tinted windows, he bent down to look inside the room.

"Arthur?"

"Merlin."

The greeting was thus exchanged; Merlin all surprised while Arthur the picture of nonchalance, as if the Merlin showing up at Gwaine's fix the window was a normal occurrence.

"I just…" Merlin offered to explain when Gwaine went towards the window, undid the safety catch and swung it open outwards. Merlin stepped aside as the window was opened and Gwaine and Merlin met each other's eyes.

"I'm sorry…"

The apology was uttered at the same time.

Merlin shook his head, his expression adamant. "No. Don't. I was wrong. I am sorry."

Gwaine stepped closer to the open window. "I said some awful things. I'm sorry."

"I should not have hit you. I'm sorry…" Merlin appeared not to have listened to what Gwaine had said.

"No, mate," Gwaine interrupted, urgency in his voice. Merlin does not have to apologize. He was the one who screwed up. "I'm…"

Arthur intervened just then. He came to stand beside Gwaine and sighed. "Children, since when did this become a competition?"

"Arthur," Guinevere stepped up next to Merlin, smiling at her fiancée.

"My love!" Arthur's enthusiasm would have been annoying if it was not for the sincerity of his expression and tone. Arthur was genuinely happy (in a way that would affect all those around him sort of happiness) to see Guinevere.

"Perhaps we should just let Merlin and Gwaine talk this out by themselves?" Guinevere suggested, her smile similar to those given to children of pre-schooling age when their parents or teachers want them to do as they are being asked to.

"Right." Arthur looked at Merlin and then at Gwaine. He seemed happy, satisfied even. Gwaine could not guess if it was because Merlin and he were talking…or at least apologizing to each other…or because of Guinevere's presence. As he made his way towards the door, he declared, "Guinevere and I shall just go over to the park, find a secluded spot and make out for a bit…"

"Arthur!" Guinevere looked perfectly horrified.

"Coming, my love," called out over his shoulder. He left the living/office room and Gwaine heard the front door being opened and closed and an _'Ouch'_ from Arthur that indicated some form of physical scolding had taken place. Gwaine turned to Merlin, who was standing outside the window, looking at him.

"I'm sorry."

It was said simultaneously as the both of them moved closer to each other on their sides of the window.

"Merlin…"  
>"Gwaine…" Merlin interrupted, but Gwaine managed to speak first.<p>

"Apologize some other time, Merlin, please. It's my turn today," Gwaine said. If he could say anything about what or how he felt, he would have said he was suffering. He was trying to make things right, his body was in the stages of manifesting a nasty hangover, his head ached, he could barely see Merlin from all the squinting against the sun and…

He just wanted to…he wanted things to be back to as they were. He did not like being in the situation where he and Merlin were trying to out-apologize each other. It felt strange. It felt wrong.

And it felt…lonely. It was as if the word sorry were like bricks being laid out to build a wall separating Gwaine from Merlin.

Merlin looked at Gwaine. They were both standing near the window, with only the open window frame between them. Merlin's anxious expression gave way to a small wistful smile. "You never change, do you?'

"Can't change perfection, mate," Gwaine remarked, smiling ruefully. There was nothing perfect about him.

And yet it always feels perfect whenever Merlin is around.

Merlin chuckled. "Well, perfection could use a shower, I think," he remarked giving Gwaine a once over. His expression registered minute change as he regarded the bloodied lip; the sudden brightness of his eyes indicating the tears gathering behind them.

"Touché."

Merlin laughed, and cried a bit (Gwaine pretended not to notice when Merlin wiped away the tears from his eyes), but mostly he laughed. And it felt good, to hear Merlin laughing again. It was one the things Gwaine loves about Merlin, his laughter. He tries not to think about it; how wonderfully stupid he sounds when he thinks of it (sappy romance at its best) and the one horrifying time he spoke out of his love for the sound of Merlin's laughter. It was during a lunch with Morgana when she…

_Morgana…_

Gwaine froze when he suddenly remembered. He looked at his wrist, not surprised to find it empty because he rarely wears a watch anyway (but could not help the reflex action because he was now on the verge of a full-scale panic mode). He turned around the room, trying to find any device that would tell him what the time was. Merlin watched him, his frown getting deeper and deeper.

The grandfather (whose grandfather had not been established yet) clock in the corner of the room showed a time that was nearing a quarter to three. There was still time.

"Merlin, do you want to go out for a bit?" Gwaine asked, turning to Merlin.

"Only if you shower and change."

"Right. That's getting old," Gwaine said, pointing to Merlin.

"And smelling slightly ripe."

Gwaine was on the verge of pouting but managed to catch himself before he did so. "Fine. I need a shower…"

"Amen." Merlin was laughing again. Gwaine rolled his eyes; he was on the verge of sulking. And then he felt Merlin's hand on his arm. "And where are we going?"

"We're taking flowers for Morgana."

The surprised look on Merlin's face was palpable. Gwaine was not sure if it was because he suggested it because taking flowers to Morgana was something that only Lance did. None of them had ever suggested something like this ever, let alone did it.

"I…" Merlin began, but words seemed to fail him.

But the smile he gave to Gwaine was one of pure brilliance, happiness and sunshine, the brightness of which warmed his very soul, laid to rest all troubled emotions and thoughts.

And as they laid the bouquet of lilies plus a stalk each of carnation and daffodil at the base of Morgana's tombstone, Gwaine surprisingly, felt at peace, as if the chaos around him had settled down. It was surprising because he had not realized there tension in his life. He thought he had been happy. He thought he had coped pretty well. He had thought…

It did not matter what he thought. Because he had been wrong. He had not been happy. And he had not coped very well.

Merlin stepped up beside him, standing shoulder to shoulder as they looked at the marble tombstone.

_"I knew it."_

Gwaine's chest constricted as his memories dredged up the echoes of Morgana's voice and the conversation he had a lifetime ago.

_"He's my best friend, Morgana."_

_"Lance is my best friend."_

_"Merlin does not feel that way about me."_

_"You don't have to assume what Merlin feels. You just have to…"_

_"Keep my hands to myself?"_

_"That. And know that of all the things love is, it certainly can surprise you." _

Gwaine smiled as he thought of the conversation. It was a long time ago and many things have come to pass. And Merlin was still strictly his friend. Not that he would have had it any other way. His friendship with Merlin was more than enough. It has always been and will always be.

Dusk was stealing in, darkness slowly laying claim to the day. Gwaine looked at Merlin, who was looking at Morgana's tombstone with an intensity that slightly unsettled Gwaine. Gwaine touched Merlin's shoulder, chasing away his reverie. Merlin turned to Gwaine and smiled. He nodded, indicating he was alright. They turned away from the tombstone wordlessly, Gwaine saying his goodbyes in his heart, because that was where Morgana truly was. They walked back towards the car, the muffled footsteps on the grass the only sound around them. Merlin walked close beside him, their hands touching.

As his car come to view, Gwaine quickened his step.

And that was when Merlin took hold of his hand.

Gwaine stopped in his steps, as did Merlin, who had his head bowed, looking at his hand now interlocked with Gwaine's. Moments later, Merlin looked up, a small smile on his face. Any other emotions were veiled behind a mask of neutrality that was bordering on happiness.

"Movie?" Merlin asked, the casual tone of his question pushing aside any awkwardness from the moment.

Gwaine looked at Merlin. "What do you have in mind?"he asked, his standard response to whenever Merlin suggests movie.

Merlin's smile got wider. He had been expecting this response. He tugged at Gwaine's hand, getting him to walk again. And he was listed out the movies he wanted to watch. Gwaine gave a _'maybe'_ to a couple (_The Lion King_ and _Finding Nemo_ and _The Dark Knight_). They settled on _The Dark Knight_ because Merlin had not seen it without someone explaining to him what was going on. And then changed his mind because the turtles in _Finding Nemo_ was awesome as hell.

They argued about turtles and bats, which was no way related to the movie choices as they walked back to the car.

Merlin's hand still held on to Gwaine's.

=X=X=X=

The chill of Sunday evening was that of deep winter. Twilight fell quickly, prompting people hasten back to the warmth of their homes.

To their families.

Morgause was on the final lap of her walk around the park opposite her house. It was too cold of an evening for any consideration for an outdoor exercise, but Morgause just needed to get away from her house; so large and empty and full of echoes. It was also to put some distance between herself and the bottle of wine that she had been trying to ignore since last evening. Because as much as the bottle might help in alleviating her loneliness, Morgause knew that she would be still be alone when the bottle is empty.

Of course, she was not always alone. For a moment, she had a Merlin. A good friend. Thoughtful, if a little absent – minded, kind and just so full of…life. No doubt he was still mourning for the loss of Morgana, but Morgause knew in time, he will be alright again. His friends would make sure of that.

His friends…

She had never belonged in their world. Never could, she supposed. Her presence brought chaos into their lives and …

As she neared the entrance to the park, a shout of laughter in the almost silent street made her look up in the direction of Gwaine's house. Merlin and Gwaine were walking towards the front door of Gwaine's house; Merlin walking backwards as he was telling Gwaine something, TESCO shopping bags in their hands.

Morgause could not help smiling. This is how it should be. This is what Merlin deserves. He does not need a broken woman with her own baggage. Merlin who only ever wished for kindness for anyone deserves to be loved unreservedly by his friends. And he should always be able to do the same for them, not torn into two with whatever little feeling he had for her.

Which should not be anything more than a passing affection, she was sure. Her world and Merlin's were parallels; they ran the same track but they could never converge.

She watched Merlin and Gwaine as they got into the house. She felt happy for them.

Felt anger for herself.

For it felt as if she had missed out on something that she knew she will regret for the rest of her life.

And after losing her sister, going through a divorce, she wondered if it was wrong to reach out and turn the affection Merlin had for her into something else…something that would no doubt bring her much needed happiness.

The answer, as she left the park and crossed the street, was no. Because if her life and Merlin's joined, she would be happy. The same cannot be said of Merlin.

She realized what she was to Merlin as she walked up to her house.

A distraction.

She faltered at her front door, not wanting to enter the empty house. The Christmas , the tree so beautifully set up, with the presents under it seemingly mocked her. Because it was there, a representation of happier times and better times to follow it.

She could see in her mind's eyes tearing the decorations down, standing amidst a mess that was something more relatable to her emotions.

The sudden ring of the telephone dispelled the image. Warmth on the side of her face indicated tears. For what and for whom, she could not decide.

"Hello?" she composed voice into her usual icy coolness.

"Mummy!"

When the tears fell this time, she knew why.

There was still hope for her. She is not alone. Nor will she ever be.

=X=X=X=


	33. Chapter 33

**Ages and ages since my last update. I apologize. Mostly real life getting too real. And I could not give such good friends and loyal followers of Merlin and the gang in this incarnation anything less than the best the Muses could muster.**

**The song mentioned in this chapter is **_**(Love is like a) Heatwave by Martha Reeves & The Vandellas**_**. Not quite what I normally listen to, but the moment I heard this song, I knew it was my Morgana/Lance song. And yeah, I 'shipped them way before Lancelot came to stand before Morgana, all dripping wet and compliant. **

**And as always, I need your love and reviews for this.**

**I apologize for the grammar mistakes. I do try to eliminate all them but some always evade me. **

**Thank you everyone for making this the most special thing I have written. All of your support has been a tremendous help and brought much happiness in my life. Because though I don't own Merlin, I have this and it makes me very happy. **

* * *

><p><em>A lifetime ago...<em>

_As he stood at the edge of the garden closest to the house, scanning the crowd gathered in the garden, Uther Pendragon was willing himself to stop being nervous. His moment in the spotlight would be very brief, and yet he could not help himself. He was also getting rather annoyed because he was not a man prone to nervousness. Uther had dealt with many, many things both personally and professionally that has put him in the centre of attention and he wondered why he would be feeling all…emotional for this one brief moment. _

_ The answer came to him a moment later. A whisper of silk, muted laughter and a perfume of lilies heralded the arrival of Morgana. Uther turned around and saw Morgana, who was picking her way carefully on the grass (Uther frowned at this oversight; he should have just put up platforms all over the garden where the wedding was taking place and not just for the altar), the skirt of her ankle-length dress hitched higher while her best friend (Jennifer or Gwendolyn, Uther was not sure) was holding the train as she walked behind her. _

_As he watched Morgana, Uther's heart…it sang. All brides tend to look radiant and beautiful on the day their wedding but Morgana…well, Uther may just be an indulgent father, but Morgana, he thought, was the very epitome of beauty and elegance and happiness. Her dress was a simple sheath of ivory, cinched at the waist and leaving her shoulders bare. Her hair was done up in a simple bun at the back of her neck. Her veil was her mother's, the intrinsic lacework on its edges set off spectacularly against the simple dress and the subtle jewellery. In her hands, a dozen stalk of white lilies tied with a ribbon. She was a vision of beauty. _

_And Uther realized that his nervousness was not nervousness at all. It was something else entirely. _

_ The guests were murmuring to each other, trying their best not to turn around and look at the bride they knew was already taking her place at the other end of the red carpet that led to the altar. The priest officiating the event was the only one with his eyes on Morgana and Uther, as he was standing facing them. The groom, his best man and two of his other friends were standing two levels below the priest on the raised platform, trying to be pretend they were not just slightly hungover. Their nonchalance, the pointed way they seemed to have their back towards Morgana, seemed very much a show. Merlin was the first to crumble, as he turned behind and looked at Morgana, his face breaking into one of the most ridiculous grins Uther had ever seen. _

_ Uther just hoped he was not sporting a grin as silly as the boy's. _

_ But there was no denying that today he was happy. _

_ And the moment he acknowledged this to himself of the happiness he felt, another emotion pushed to the surface. _

_ Today was the day that his little girl, his daughter in all but blood, is given away to another man. He will cease to be the most important man in her life. Not that Lance du Lac has usurped the position, but rather Uther stepping aside to give this man a place in Morgana's life. _

_ It really came as a surprise for Uther when Lance came to him not two months back and asked his blessing to seek Morgana's hand in marriage. Uther did not even know Lance was courting Morgana. And he did not really think Morgana would settle down so quickly after completing her university. He thought she would take up a position in Pendragon Industries, like Arthur had. When Uther expressed this concern to her, Morgana had said that she needed the stability Lance would give her before plunging into the corporate world. Uther wondered that day if it was the sensible thing for her to do, but kept his peace. He would indulge his daughter, if it made her happy. _

_ Morgana came to stand next to Uther, looking up at him, her eyes bright emeralds under her veil. He took her hand in his, squeezed it, smiling at her, feeling all the love a parent could have for their child rushing into him. He wondered how he would be able to let Morgana go when they reach the altar. _

_Marrying Morgana's mother had been a choice borne of loneliness and need and in his own way, love as well (not as much love as he had for Ygraine, his first love). Loving Morgana as his own was something that he could not define, it just happened naturally. Perhaps it was having Morgana as a daughter that hastened Uther's decision to marry her mother, to solidify something casual into something that was akin to a family. Arthur too needed Morgana and the seemingly effortless way she seemed to bring out the best in those around her. Always abrasive, yet her loyalty and love knew no bounds. _

_Morgana was the best thing that ever happened to Uther. _

_ Uther took a deep breath. He turned towards the altar, crooking his arms to enable Morgana hers through his. Her best friend took her place in front of them, readying for her own walk down the aisle as the sole bridesmaid. The string quartet, seated on a raised platform to the left of the main platform got the cue from Gwaine, who was standing near the musicians' platform. As the musicians lifted their bows and violins and struck the opening chords to Pachebel's Canon in D, Jennifer or Gwendolyn or whoever she was, took a deep breath and walked down the aisle, with a little bouquet of her own in her hands. The girl wore a white dress, just a little too short for Uther's liking, but in the same simple elegance that seemed to be the theme of the day. As the music picked, the groom finally turned around to look at the woman he is to be wed in a matter of moments. Uther expected to see slight nervousness (he remembers being a nervous wreck on his own wedding day; so nervous that it took him two tries to get his vows right), but all he saw from Lance was quiet confidence. And the small smile that indicated pride. Arthur, Lance best man, had barely concealed happiness etched onto his face, Uther could not remember the last time he saw Arthur so happy. Merlin was still grinning and Gwaine's own was quickly matching it in its sheer ridiculousness. _

_Morgana's best friend reached the main platform and took her position. And then, to the surprise of the almost two hundred guests gathered under the tent, the musicians put away their instruments and got down from the platform. As this was happening, another set of musicians began to take their place on another platform to the right of the main one. These musicians were dressed in a more flamboyant manner; the lead singer's dress was adorned with sequins in the shade of blue commonly known as electric while her accompanying musicians wore pastel hued tuxedos that contrasted with the more staid and formal choice of the guests as well as the wedding party gathered that afternoon. _

_Uther frowned at the change of musicians. He tried to catch Gwaine's eyes but his irritating nephew was ignoring him. Uther was about to speak out his concern about the lack of music for his daughter's walk down the aisle when Morgana whispered that she had chosen another song. One that was more suited for her. _

_Uther knew that it was going to be something different and unique. _

_He also knew he was not going to like it. _

_Why break away from traditions, he wondered. Because the musicians taking their place…well, Uther did not think they were ones for classical pieces. _

_Once the musicians were ready, Gwaine gave another nod and the big bass band took up their instruments and swung into their rendition of 'Heatwave' made famous many years ago when Uther himself was still a boy. The guests, stunned at first, started laughing and cheering and soon enough some of them were clapping their hands. Lance kept a stoic expression, though a smile was quickly displacing that. As Morgana informed Uther just before they started their walk, she wanted this song because it was a much better indicator of what she felt for Lance than some orchestral piece composed hundreds years ago. _

_Uther, who had visions of walking down a petal-strewn aisle with the Wedding March playing in all its glory, did not know what he thought of this whole…fiasco. _

_Yes, a fiasco, for that is what it was now. He wondered if Gwaine had anything to influence Morgana and realized that no one could sway Morgana into doing anything she did not want in the first place. So the whole thing was Morgana's idea. Uther's smile, one that he had been genuine just moments before, was forced. _

"…_my love was like a heatwave…" is all good and fine for Morgana, but did she really have to advertise that to the world? _

_Is this what happens when young people are left unsupervised? Turning tradition into…into…this muddle? _

_Halfway down the aisle, another surprise waited for Uther. Well, it was meant for Morgana, but really, any displays of affection by the bride and groom should have been kept to a minimum. That is what people usually do when they are getting married. They are getting into holy matrimony obviously because they love each other. Everyone at the wedding knows the bride and groom love each other, so there was no use overdoing it. _

_And he just looked plain ridiculous, Lance did, in his jacket that lit up in blue LED lights, highlighting the hems and cuffs and collars and displaying 'I love Morgana' (love replaced with that universally –wrong, because it hardly looked like the real thing, Uther thought- symbol for the heart) on his back. _

_Morgana laughed, delight and unadulterated happiness evident in her mirth. Uther was to find out later that none of them knew Morgana would be walking down the aisle to the she had planned this bit of the ceremony herself. And knowing that his wife would be doing something outrageous, Lance had gone for the LED jacket. _

_Two mad people in love. Uther almost felt inclined to put an end to the wedding there and then. _

_Until he realized something. _

_Two people madly in love. _

_Morgana would forego tradition for Lance and he would not mind appearing rather foolish, it meant he could see Morgana smile and laugh. _

_Who would have thought…_

_For the first time since they began their walk down their aisle, Uther's embarrassment slowly dissipated. He felt proud of them both. There was still the sadness of losing Morgana, but knowing Morgana, Uther knew nothing would change the fact that she is his daughter. _

_And in a mental admission to himself that managed to surprise him as he thought of it, Uther decided that he liked Lance very much. The ridiculous jacket notwithstanding, he was good for Morgana. His family background was solid, as were his finances. Uther had just this morning put to the shredder the hundred page or so of the dossier prepared for him by a independent contractor for the MI-5, who had been set to work the day Morgana politely declined Uther's offer to set her up with a son of his business partner for some 'socializing'; declaring that she was 'seeing someone and that it was very, very serious and would be severely inconvenienced if any more talk of socializing with half-arsed public-school boys came up again'. _

_Lance was the quiet one of Arthur's group. Lance was…dependable. Uther knew he will be able to take care of his daughter. _

_Of course, there was the fact that should Lance prove to be a less than stellar husband Morgana was touting him to be…a little heart – to – heart, with less than subtle hints of Uther Pendragon's power and influence and strength would be in order. Morgana may become Lance's wife today, but she is and will always be Uther Pendragon's daughter. _

_They reached the end of the aisle and Uther gritted his teeth, trying to blink away the sudden wetness that was blurring his vision. The last thing Uther wanted was to be one of the fathers who cried at their children's wedding. He stood before the main platform, almost listening to the voice in his head that said that all he had to was to glare at the groom and the priest and the wedding would be off and he would be able to keep his daughter with him always. _

"_Daddy?" _

_Morgana's voice was soft enough for him to hear. He turned to her and saw her looking at him, his mind's eyes seeing the three year old girl that threw herself at his legs, begging to be carried, every time he walked into her mother's flat. _

_How could he let her go…_

"_I love you," she said, putting her other hand on his arm. _

_A bloody tear fell from his eyes. If he had looked up then, he would have seen Arthur with his eyes wide, not believing what he was seeing. _

_Uther nodded, the infernal lump in his throat preventing him from saying anything. He turned away from Morgana and looked at Lance, was all calm and patient and an indulgent smile on his face. A smile that got wider as Uther released Morgana's hand from his arm and handed it to Lance, who took her hand and raised it and twirled her around once, causing her to laugh and the guests to clap appreciatively. The LED jacket was turned off and replaced with the proper tuxedo jacket before bride and groom turned to the priest. _

_Lance's vows were simple. Something about and loving her looking after her for as long as he had a breath in his body. A quick glance to the back assured Uther that none of the females in attendance were dry eyed when Lance was saying his vows. Morgana was crying as well, though she was mindful of her makeup and was much too happy to let the tears have their way. _

_The rings were exchanged and the bride and groom were declared as husband and wife. The priest had hardly ended his, "You may kiss the bride" suggestion when Morgana all but jumped into Lance's embrace and her husband kissed her until they were both out of breath and looked as if they were going to pass out. _

_It was not until his daughter and son-in-law were walking down the aisle that Uther realized he was crying. _

_Not for the loss of a daughter. But rather from the happiness of seeing Morgana happy. _

_And then during the reception, as bride and groom danced their first dance, Uther knew that he had given his daughter to a man worthy of taking care of her, loving her and making her happy. Uther found himself...warming up to Lance and Uther is not known to warm up to people that easily. _

_Uther really liked Lance, found him an acceptable addition to the family. _

_And even when Lance wore the ridiculous LED jacket again, Uther found his feelings towards his son-in-law was unchanged. _

=X=X=X=_  
><em>

Uther Pendragon adjusted his cufflinks and took a cursory glance at the full – length mirror before him, taking in a suit that was perfectly tailored, a tie that was perfectly knotted, shoes that gleamed in polished brightness. He looked well put together, with enough neutrals in his chosen colours to convey nothing less than absolute decisiveness….absolute control.

Had he looked closer, he would seen his hair was abundantly streaked in grey, the lines in his forehead just that little bit deeper and the line of his mouth was set even more grimmer than it usually was. His eyes retained the icy coldness, the chill of it that kept people at bay, that kept him away from others and their petty problems and lives. Uther was much happier this way. He was unhindered by emotions and feelings and that is what has kept his company and his prestige at the highest level possible.

He moved away from the mirror and took a seat on the armchair near the ceiling-to-floor window of his hotel room suite. He had another ten minutes before his next appointment, drinks with the Vice President of Pendragon Industries' Stateside operations. He meant to read the newspaper, a quick look into the Lifestyle section, to see if there was any interesting play or show he could go to, if he had the time, of course. But he found himself staring out the window, his fingers steepled beneath his chin, looking at nothing in particular, despite the whole of the city laid out in front of him in all its brightness and glory. His thoughts began to roam…Pendragon Industries, Morgana, Arthur, Ygraine…

A knock on the door, soft but decisive, burst the images that had been running through his mind. Uther was irritated, mainly at himself for allowing himself the indulgence of letting his mind run away with idle thoughts, as well as the interruption to his solitude. There was still time yet for his appointment and his PA was given the strictest order not to disturb him until then.

"Come," Uther called out, not bothering to get up from his seat, or look away from the window. He heard the door being opened and hesitant footsteps approach.

"Mr Pendragon, Sir," his PA stuttered. Uther kept his smile hidden. It was a source of unending amusement for Uther whenever his PA addresses him. The young boy, well, not a boy, he was slightly older than Arthur and had three young children and balanced his work and family in an efficient manner that always managed to surprise Uther, was always nervous around him, even though he has yet to irritate Uther to the point of yelling. He was competent, which is to say he is a brilliant Personal Assistant, who made everything that much smoother for Uther. Even so, the young man has yet to master the skill of talking to his employer. Uther often wondered what his PA would do when addressing him if Uther decided to use his full ancestral title.

"Yes, Jared?" Uther only spoke because he felt rather sorry for the young man, now standing a few paces away from him. Uther could see the young man in the reflection on the glass window, shifting his weight from one leg to another.

"Your son-in-law, Sir, Mr Pendragon," Jared said. Uther looked turned his head slightly towards his PA, a slight frown on his face. "Is here. Well, at the restaurant. Downstairs. He's here and…um..he wishes to speak to you."

Uther got up from his seat and faced his assistant in one fluid motion. Jared McKinnon, all six feet four, tried not to flinch, even though he had almost five inches and a few stones on Uther. "My son-in-law?" Uther asked, the frown now more visible for Jared's benefit, a clarion call that if this was someone's idea for a joke, it was not sitting well with Uther. At all. And that there will be much to pay for if it really was a joke. Because why in Heaven would his son-in-law visit him in New York…

Yes.

Of course.

The recent staff layoff and reshuffling at Pendragon Industries.

"Yes, Sir Mr Pendragon," Jared spoke again. Uther had to commend the young man, he was actually maintaining eye contact. "Mr Lance du Lac. I asked him to come up, but he said he was hungry and would wait at the restaurant. I…"

"I will go down to meet him," Uther said, holding up a hand. He moved walked past Jared, making his way towards the door. Just as he was about to step outside his room, Uther looked at Jared. "My seven o'clock? Postpone it. Half an hour the most." He did not look at Jared as he left the room.

There were not much people in the restaurant as Uther entered it. A few couples and one or two families, talking in hushed tones, the sound of silverware the faintest tinkle above the classical composition played through hidden speakers at a pleasantly discreet volume. Uther spotted Lance immediately, he was sitting at one of tables overlooking the hotel's inner courtyard, a view of snow and silver and tastefully done Christmas decorations. A waiter was placing a plate of food before him and Lance looked up at him, thanking him before picking up his cutlery.

Impeccable manners as usual, Uther thought, though he did disapprove of his choice of clothes; the thick grey sweater he wore was not exactly the dress code encouraged in the restaurant , but Uther decided he could overlook that. It was the first time he was seeing Lance since Arthur's accident, though they have spoken on the phone once or twice after that, mainly about Arthur's progress.

Lance looked up just as Uther neared the table he was seated at and stood up, smiling. His smile warm and genuine and Uther found his severe expression breaking down into a smile as well.

They got over the cursory greetings; inquiry on health and travels. Uther went through the motions, knowing that in a few moments, he will be treated to a thoroughly heart-wrenching plea from his son-in-law to take Arthur back into the company, to rescind his decision to terminate him from the company and to accept that stablehand's daughter as his a suitable match for his son. Uther did not realize that he had been looking forward for something like this; he wanted to tell his decision regarding Arthur's position in the company as well as his thoughts on Arthur's choice of women. The fact that Lance was here meant that he could tell someone his side of the…facts.

The fact that Lance was here was a victory in itself for Uther. It meant that Arthur and his valiant friends had realized the folly of crossing with Uther. Had Gwaine been here (Merlin was not really someone Uther believed any of them would send in for negotiations of any sort), Uther would have known that he had a fight in his hand. But Lance…well, Lance was the most rational one of the lot. They must have realized their mistake. And Lance was here to probably tell Uther that Arthur wants to return to Pendragon Industries. Because Uther knew his son and running the company was something that Arthur did more for enjoyment than any monetary gain whatsoever. Lance was probably chosen because as far as peace emissaries go, his son-in-law was the very epitome of tact and diplomacy. Lance was here to smooth things over between father and son, employer and employee.

Uther was even prepared to cancel his appointment with the VP.

"Do you mind?" Lance asked, looking at his plate of what looked like a fancy version of a garden salad. "I did not get to anything since I got here this morning. Spent the whole day sleeping and shaking off the jet lag."

"Not at all," Uther said. This time, his generosity was genuine. As he settled back in his seat, he gestured for the waiter, who promptly came over and took his order for Scotch on the rocks. The drink was delivered with a speed and efficiency Uther could appreciate. Father-in-law and son-in-law lifted their glass (Lance was having _Pinot Noir_) in a silent toast and drank. There was silence, but nothing Uther felt uncomfortable with.

Lance put down his fork and took another drink of his wine. He placed his glass back on the table and looked at Uther. He looked like a man who was going through a speech rehearsed countless times. Uther waited, surprisingly patient and calm.

"It's about Arthur," Lance spoke, his voice quiet.

Uther tried not to act as if he did not suspect this was the reason he had been watching his son-in-law eat salad for the past five minutes or so. He also tried not to appear too triumphant…in mere moments, his son-in-law, bless him, is going to tell him that Arthur was now remorseful and the only thing that can console him is to have his position back in his company. He sat up a little straighter, mustering enough curiosity, hoping that it would show in his expression as interest in what Lance was going to tell him.

"I think you made a mistake." Lance spoke with the same quiet tone, his gaze on Uther unwavering.

It took a moment for Uther to realize his level – headed son-in-law had actually spoken what Uther thought he had wrongly heard. "What?" Uther said, frowning, not because of what he heard. But because of the person who spoke the things he had heard.

"Please," Lance said, a sense of urgency creeping into his voice. It must have been this urgency that repelled Uther from wanting to listen to whatever Lance wanted to say. "Please, _beau pere_. I just need you to listen for a while…"

"I don't wish to speak of this matter anymore," Uther said, no longer concealing his temper, though his voice never rose the decibel which he had greeted Lance with just moments ago.

"Then at least listen to me speak."

Uther found himself surprised at Lance's insistence. Lance was the one who was the most tactful, the one with the best manners. Uther remembers the times when he has seen him quieten down Morgana from getting too 'passionately involved' in an argument. He knew when to speak and when to listen. He knew how to talk to people and to react to them. Uther was expecting him to be adamant as he is at the moment. Uther gritted his teeth. It's almost as if Lance had assumed Uther was just another person Lance can walk up to and talk and expect to be listened to. But decorum prevented Uther from walking away. "You may speak," Uther replied, his voice icy. "I am not obliged to listen to you."

Lance grew quiet. "You are so conceited in thinking you bested your son," he said, shaking his head.

Decorum went out of window. Uther stood up, hands balled into fist by his sides. "This is unacceptable," he spoke through gritted teeth and wished he was anywhere else but in the restaurant, and faced with a son-in-law who has proven to be as traitorous as his own son had been. "Utterly unacceptable. I will not have you talking to me like this…" Half the rage was for Lance had said. Another half of it was because Lance assumed he could speak to Uther the way he did.

Lance began to speak to quickly, anticipating correctly Uther's intention of wanting to leave the table. "All you did when you sent that termination letter was to solidify and strengthen Arthur's love for Guinevere. And Guinevere's love for Arthur."

Uther had already pushed his chair back, for his exit. He made a show of fastening the buttons of his jacket, because suddenly, he wanted to know what utter madness would have compelled his son to believe that that getting fired from his own company was a way of proving his love to the stablehand's daughter.

Lance stood up as well. "Because when you chose to hurt Arthur, she chose not to. She could have walked away, leaving Arthur to be your son, your employer, whatever you wish him to be…" he gestured with his hands, as if the whole notion of Arthur being what he was born to do is something that was beyond his sphere of understanding.

Of course Lance would not understand. He was not a Pendragon.

"It will be rather difficult for her to walk away. Considering the trust fund, the car, the lifestyle? Private jet to Rome? Surely not so easy to walk away from." It gave Uther much pleasure to see the crestfallen expression on Lance's face. Well, there was nothing that Uther could do if Lance could not handle the truth.

It amused Uther that Lance took it upon himself to further clarify the matter. "She chose not to walk away from Arthur because that would have hurt him even more. There is no way for Arthur to even consider returning to the company if it meant losing Guinevere. And once he made that choice, not that it was a choice in the first place, what did you expect her to do?"

Uther allowed a derisive laughter escape his mouth. "I don't expect anything from her," Uther said, wishing that it was the girl that he was addressing and not Lance. "I just expect Arthur to do the right thing." And with that, he stepped away from the table and walked towards the exit of the restaurant. He would foot the bill for Lance's dinner. A small compensation for the worthless trip.

Lance proved to be more persistent than Uther gave him credit for. As Uther made his way to the lifts (he was developing a headache and wanted to return to his rooms for a few minutes), Lance ran to catch up with him. "He has already done that," he said, falling into step beside him.

Uther kept walking. Once again, decorum saved Lance from his wrath. Well, for now. There are other ways to show one's displeasure that does not involve shouting in public. "In your eyes, perhaps. The fool."

"You are the fool, _beau pere_."

Uther stopped walking and turned to Lance. They were standing in the middle of the hotel's vast lobby. Uther's rage boiled over but years of practise had reduced the manifestation of that rage into nothing more than the warning tremor in his voice. Lance would be doing himself a favour is he had the good sense to shut his mouth right about then. Because Uther already knew what he was going to do with Lance...investment portfolios in the company, a place in the board of directors that had been Morgana's as well as his own career. A few phone calls and all will be lost to Lance. And then, they will see who had been the fool.

Lance, apparently had lost all sense of right and wrong. Because he kept thinking that he should go on talking. "Arthur lost his job. You lost a son. If you do not rectify your mistakes, you might lose him forever. You've already lost a daughter. Are you sure that you are prepared to lose a son as well?"

Of course, Uther cannot just let this go without adding his words into it. He would take great pleasure in making those phone calls that would change Lance's life forever, but first, he has to let his displeasure be known. "What gives you the right to talk to me like that? What makes you think I would listen to you? Because you were married to my daughter? And thus I should listen to you listing out my mistakes?"

The mention of his daughter caused a changed within Lance that was discernible to Uther. The defiant look in his eyes became resigned before sadness took over. He managed a wry smile, making one last effort. "Think of me as the last person who would say these things to you, Sir."

Uther looked at Lance, surprised at the use of the word 'Sir'. Because once, not too long ago, when there had been much laughter and happiness in both their lives, Lance had addressed him as such and it had caused much amusement to Morgana and Arthur. Lance had explained that he did not know what else to call Uther. In a move that surprised everyone at the breakfast table that day, especially himself, Uther had suggested the French equivalent to father-in-law. Lance had smiled, Morgana had hugged Uther and Arthur had dropped his fork of scrambled eggs.

In the same quite voice, Lance continued, "If you do this, you will end up a very lonely and bitter man." He paused, as if trying to collect his thoughts and tuned to look at Uther again. "And I apologize, Mr Pendragon, for…for assuming too much of our relationship. I was not aware that familial bonds can be severed after the loss of someone we both dearly loved."

And with that, Lance walked away. Uther did not look at him. He was far too angry for that.

No. It was not anger.

He could not believe Lance's impertinence.

Yes. That was what it was. Utter disbelief at the impertinence of his son-in-law…of Lance. It was as if Lance had assumed that coming all the way meant that he could talk any way he wanted to Uther Pendragon.

Uther marched determinedly to the lifts, glad to be in public where the smashing of objects were frowned upon and brought disrepute to one's character. Because that is how he felt, the anger in him building up to a point where physical manifestation seemed like the most likeliest way to deal with it. He had not been this angry…well, he had not been this angry since he found out Arthur took the Pendragon jet to Rome, to go after the stablehand's daughter. A desk in his office had to be replaced that day.

He did not bother to change out of his suit when he reached his room. Neither did he bother to sit down, as he paced his suite for a long time, thinking , replaying, dissecting every word his son-in-law had told him.

Every word Lance had uttered to him was wrong.

Arthur was a fool in love.

His friends were another bunch of fools who had illusions of grandeur brought on by romance.

If Uther was not so angry, he would have laughed.

Lance coming all the way to New York to talk to him about his son. Such loyalty, if that is what the foolishness is referred to, may seem commendable enough, but it certainly was amusing…a story for the men at the club during cigar and drinks. With the names changed, of course.

He did not sleep the whole night. The thought of sleep had not occurred to him as he sat on the armchair, watching brightness taking over from the inky darkness. Another day of snow, another day of cold. The sun came up, illuminating everything. Including his reflection on the window before.

That was when he saw himself.

His hair was abundantly streaked in grey.

The lines in his forehead just that little bit deeper.

The line of his mouth set even more grimmer than it usually was.

His suit was still impeccable and did not look as if he had spent the whole sitting in them.

His shoes shone with the elegant gleam.

Everything about Uther Pendragon conveyed control and power.

And loneliness.

He saw his eyes on his reflection.

He saw a man, sitting a hotel room, far away from the people whom he knew, and in his own way, loved.

Uther Pendragon allowed himself the one luxury he had denied himself since his wife died.

He allowed himself to admit that he loved his son and his daughter.

Because in everything that comes and goes in his life, their presence had remained constant. The knowledge of that had been enough for him. It was all for Arthur and Morgana…for Arthur now…everything that he has and has worked for and has guarded. His children anchor him to his goals and dreams. And his life is about leaving them a legacy. It was the only way he knew how to show that he loved them. By giving them the best options in life.

He thought he would always have them, no matter how far they go from him.

But now, there was nothing of them he could hold on to.

In the reflection on the glass, Uther Pendragon saw himself.

He saw a man who had everything.

He saw a man who had nothing.

=X=X=X=


	34. Chapter 34

_The next few chapters are…well, they came on their own. I intended to finish this fic in just a couple of chapters, but then, the narrators were most insistent in telling their bits. So, here it is. I think this could be best be described as a __series of moments__ on the day of the party and maybe beyond. _

_New chapter update every two to three days, depending on the availability of a complete chapter. _

_It is a pleasure having so many people read and enjoy this story. I am grateful for each and every one of you. Reviews make my day. They make the Merlin gang in my head very happy and when they are happy, I am happy :) _

* * *

><p>Arthur could NOT help admiring his reflection in the full length mirror in the hallway. But then again, he looked good.<p>

Actually, he looked pretty _damn_ good; his tuxedo tailored to sleek, sharp perfection...he almost felt like a certain fictional double agent with the license to kill.

He could not help the smirk he wore as he adjusted his bow tie. And knowing that it was slightly stupid to be smiling by himself while looking in the mirror, he bit down his lips. Nervous anticipation was building within him as he waited for Guinevere to emerge from the bedroom, where she was changing. She would look at him, be all suitably impressed and awed and…well, if they were a couple of minutes late to Gwaine's, Arthur was sure no one would mind.

It was just dinner with the rest of them. And they dressed up because Gwaine insisted that his dining room deserved some respect because it was so opulent and wonderful and lumberjack checks (this was said with a pointed glance in Merlin's direction) and khakis would just ruin the whole setting. Arthur had agreed, because it had been so long that they did this…dressing up for dinner. It would be good for them to unwind and indulge, momentarily, in the privilege they had inevitably had been born into.

After that, there was the Christmas tree decoration, probably. Merlin has been hinting about it for a couple of days; buying decorations and admiring trees on displays in shops and all that. They will do the first tree at Gwaine's and then at Arthur's before doing the tree at Lance's, if he was going to have one. Arthur already has the tree for the flat delivered this afternoon. It was scheduled to be decorated tomorrow after lunch…if anyone of them are not too hungover tomorrow. There is rarely ever a meal at Gwaine's when they all leave sober.

In any case, Arthur was prepared to have a good time. It has been too long since they did anything remotely fun and he could almost see Morgana frowning. Arthur turned away from the mirror, unable to look at himself anymore. He knew they were not doing anything wrong; they were just moving on, as Morgana would have wanted them to. But it was not the easiest thing for them to do. They had lost Morgana and a little bit of themselves as well. Nothing will be the same again, and they were trying to fix their lives around a Morgana – shaped hole. It was almost impossible to completely fix the emptiness of a life without Morgana and they would not try that. What they will do, Arthur knew, was to live their lives in a way she would have been glad and proud of them.

There was wetness in his eyes. Arthur blinked it away, moving over to the corner of his living room to inspect the nine foot tree. Moving on meant no tears and here he was, putting his pregnant fiancée to shame.

_Talking of fiancée…_

The door to the bedroom opened and Guinevere walked out. Arthur turned around to have a look at her, and to allow her to appraise him as well.

_Oh_.

Arthur could not help feeling the slight disappointment he felt looking at his fiancée. She was beautiful as usual, minimal make up, hair pulled back and pinned at the back of her head using star – shaped pins (the kinds that can be slid out come removal time, becoming a very entertaining game for Arthur), exposing her graceful neck. She wore drop pearl and diamond earring, a fine silver chain with the pendant to match the earrings and Arthur's hospital ID bracelet (they had gone shopping for a ring twice and neither Guinevere or Arthur were able to agree on a ring; everything they saw did not say '_Arthur and Guinevere forever_'. Most only seem to say '_expensive'_ and others the dreaded '_bling'_ word).

She looked lovely, she really did.

_But_…

There was no skin.

Arthur felt just a little disappointed. The only skin visible were her neck and none beyond that as Guinevere has opted for an ankle – length dress in the deepest purple with full sleeves. It had the right amount of cling to it, accentuating Guinevere delightful curves…

_Demure_.

_Elegant, of course. Naturally. _

The dress was a quiet statement; well – cut and carefully chosen with the purple setting off Guinevere's golden skin quite spectacularly.

Arthur tried to suppress the teenage boy within him and see his fiancée for the stunning woman she is, regardless of whether she is wearing this dress or _not_…

The thought and mental image of Guinevere in any state of undress was a jolt to Arthur's physical self. He tried to blink them away.

Of course, any thought of suppressing the image of Guinevere _not_ wearing any dress would not that be that easy. Arthur swallowed, staying where he was. Guinevere placed the shoes she had been carrying in her hands on the floor outside the door to the bedroom and slipped into them. Arthur smiled when he saw the shoes; they were peep – toed stilettos and Arthur loved the sight of Guinevere little toes peeking through the hole.

_Yeah_.

His fiancée is stunning. Despite the demure gown. Arthur already knows how he was going to get over his disappointment with seeing so little of Guinevere in it.

_Removal of the dress will be much pleasure…_

Guinevere gave a sharp intake of breath, disrupting Arthur's thoughts, causing Arthur to wonder if she heard him telepathically.

"One moment," she said, holding up her index finger. She must have left something in the bedroom.

"You look positively lovely, my darling," Arthur said, meaning every word he said, eyeing the curve of her neck.

Guinevere smiled. "Why, thank you, love," she said, she said, her voice coy. "You look most debonair yourself."

Arthur grinned as Guinevere turned to go into the bedroom again. His grin was soon displaced with wide eyed disbelief as his jaw went slack.

Guinevere's gown was only demure in the front. At the back it was…

_Not demure at all. _

Arthur was at loss for words.

_There was no back of the dress to speak off. _

It was just expanse of Guinevere's skin right up to the small of her back. And as if to accentuate the lack of cloth at the back, a single silver chain was clasped at the shoulders, hanging languidly and occasionally brushing the skin of Guinevere's back when she moved.

Arthur suppressed a groan. He was supremely envious of the silver chain.

"Did you say anything, Arthur?" Guinevere said, looking over her shoulder, her body half turned towards Arthur, not knowing what an irresistible picture she made for Arthur.

_Take off your clothes. _

_Or don't. _

Arthur suppressed another groan, shaking his head. Guinevere nodded once and went into the bedroom. Arthur watched her go, swallowing. His mind had reverted back to someone half his age with all the things and images it keeps coming up with.

Not helping matters was the glimpse of the chain on Guinevere's back that glinted in a cheeky, teasing way that seemed like an invitation of sorts.

"Are you alright, Arthur?" Guinevere's voice broke through the images in Arthur's head.

Arthur shook himself mentally out of his reveries and saw Guinevere before him, a concerned expression on her face. As well as the twinkle of laughter in her eyes indicating that she knows what she _and_ her backless dress was doing to Arthur.

Arthur smiled, regaining some semblance of control over his brains. "Guinevere. I…I…"

Not much control but at least he is trying.

He felt simultaneously stupid for being so teenager – like. And pride for having such a stunning, hot woman as his fiancée. He mentally congratulated himself.

"Are you alright?" Guinevere asked. She knew Arthur was not. Arthur knew she knew that Arthur was not alright.

"It's…" Arthur said, giving her one very appreciative appraisal before taking a step towards her. "I love it," Arthur said, his voice husky with desire.

Of course, Guinevere was not going to indulge him. "Really?" she asked, though she did step closer to him, looking up at him as her hands sought his.

"Love it very much that I think I'd rather not go for dinner," Arthur told her. When Guinevere caught hold his hands, he took control. He pulled her to him and swooped down to her neck. He inhaled her perfume (sandalwood) and pressed a kiss on the pulse point just beneath her ears, delighting when he heard her gasp as his lips made contact with her skin. "I'm hungry for pudding."

"Arthur…" Guinevere voice held a warning, but it was feeble, very feeble.

"Let me ring Gwaine and tell him…" Arthur said, wishing he did not have to speak as he his lips traced along the hollow of her collarbone.

"And tell him that we are on our way," Guinevere replied, her voice much firmer now. She slipped her hand from Arthur's, placing them on his chest and pushing him away. If Arthur was disappointed, it was not for long. Guinevere's blushed countenance and the way her breathing hitched told Arthur that she too did not find the idea of going for a formal dinner at this moment quite pleasing when there were other more pleasant activities to indulge in.

"Maybe it will be alright if we missed the first course. Soup is always predictable and boring," Arthur said, smiling as he realized that though Guinevere had pushed him away, her hands were still on his chest.

"We are going and we are leaving now," Guinevere replied, trying to look stern.

"What if we hurry back? We don't have to stay for pudding, do we?"

"I want to stay for pudding."

"Why?" Arthur's voice took on the fine qualities of a whining six year old. A whining six year old _girl_.

"Because I love pudding."

"I love pudding too. Don't deny me _my_ pudding, love,"

Guinevere smiled indulgently and leaned forwards, tilting her head upwards to kiss Arthur. Arthur closed the gap between them quickly, claiming the prize he had been waiting for this long. Guinevere seemingly yielded her lips soft and her mouth warm and welcoming, matching Arthur's intensity with her own. And just as his hands roamed further...

"Just a little something to keep you going," Guinevere said, moving away from him but could not on the account that Arthur has her locked on to him. She did not seem to putting up much protest over it anyway.

"Hmm…" was all Arthur managed to articulate before he returned to what he loved doing best; kissing his fiancée.

"We have to go," Guinevere managed to break free from Arthur to say as much. And suddenly she was out of Arthur's reach. She stood before him, an eyebrow arched and added, "We're going to be late."

So party gets precedence over sexy times.

"I hate parties." Arthur pouted as Guinevere moved to pick up her clutch.

Guinevere looked at Arthur, smiling. "You're gorgeous," she told him and it gave Arthur much smug satisfaction to note that Guinevere said this from the safety of having the whole living room between them. If her blushing was indication, Arthur knew that what she wanted was not that much different from what Arthur wanted. Arthur almost purred.

"I know," he said, sounding very boastful.

"Arthur," Guinevere chided. There was a smile on her lips nonetheless as she came to stand next to him in the hallway, where Arthur handed her coat to her before picking up his walking stick.

"With you by my side, darling," Arthur added. And kissed Guinevere on her cheek; very chaste and innocent.

"Saying things like that are not going to change my mind," "We are going."

"Worth a try."

"You're sweet."

"After you."

"Are you going to let me walk by myself?"

"I am enjoying the view."

"You're incorrigible."

"No. Just appreciative of your efforts, love."

And as always, the sound of Guinevere's laughter filled Arthur with happiness that filled his entire being with happiness. He gave his hand to her and when she took it, pulled her close to him, as they made their way to the lift. Arthur kissed the top of Guinevere's head. He held her hands tight, relishing in the feeling of being the luckiest man in the world.

=X=


	35. Chapter 35

**_More than a hundred thousand words. Wow._**

**_A pleasure to entertain all readers of this fic. And thank you for all who had stuck around from the days when the number of words were only into the thousands. Love you all._**

**_And I apologize for having to re-post this chapter. Somehow, all the names in the chapter in a particular paragraph became all Morgana. Hmm...wonder if my dead Morgana is haunting this story._ **

**And once again, thank you for reading.  
><strong>

* * *

><p>Lance gave up after two tries.<p>

He was never going to get the cufflinks right. He decided to just let Merlin or Gwaine help him with it. He pocketed them, alongside his bow tie, which for some inexplicable reason would not co-operate with him, making him wish that they did not set tuxedo and evening wear for the dress code.

He left his room, picking up his keys and wallet on the side table beside the door to the room. He paused in the hallway between the living room and front door just long enough to pick up his coat in the closet next to the door. And then, he took a deep breath and opened the front door, forcing himself to step out of the flat. In the course of getting ready, Lance had tried not to look at any pictures of Morgana he had around the flat. He played the music in his stereo at a volume just below the level that would cause his neighbours to complain, playing his collection of music associated with anthemic tracks and big hair. The loud music helped him to ignore the fleeting images in his mind of the countless times he had gotten ready to go out with Morgana.

How she would fix his tie with still clad in her towel, her hair damp and her skin warm from the shower, smelling of roses.

The way she would bite her lower lips as she worked on his cufflinks.

And the way she would step out of the room, more beautiful than the last time, looking at Lance for approval and for confirmation.

He managed to push away all thoughts of Morgana, not because he wanted to. But because today, he had to make an effort. For the sake of his friends. He has to be there. They were celebrating…

_Moving on. _

_Or at least, trying to. _

Lance stepped into the hallway outside his flat and locked the door behind him, swallowing. He stood in front of the door, one hand still on the doorknob, struggling with wanting to go back in and wanting to move away from the door.

He missed Morgana so much.

Of course, he misses her every day.

_But today…_

Christmas was beginning to take shape around them. Arthur had mentioned a tree in his flat that needed decorating and would be expecting full attendance from them all. Lance did not know if he had the strength for Christmas. He had faced so much in the last four month; loneliness that seems to multiply each day. The worst had been the three days in New York. Lance had to deal with the Morgana haunting every moment he was in the city, and his own thoughts tormented by the fact that he was not taking her flowers in London…

He just missed her. The grief of her loss seemed more physical now; the flat bigger and quieter than he ever remembered.

_And lately…_

"Hello."

Lance's train of thoughts ceased immediately at the sound of Elena's voice. He took a deep breath and coaxed something akin to a smile unto his features before turning around to see her.

Elena was standing at the doorway to her flat, looking at Lance, her smile one of shyness and expectations. Lance was at loss as to what to say for Elena looked absolutely amazing.

The unruly blond hair that had always been held in place, or at least attempted to be held in place, by multitudes of pins, was now cascading down her shoulders in soft, golden curls, swept back and tucked behind her ears. Elena had been pretty without any make up and now her clear skin was accentuated with a touch of colour to her lips and cheeks. Her eyes, now that Lance was noticing them, were a startling shade of blue reminiscent of the ocean. And having gotten used to seeing her in nurses' scrubs or functional, albeit a little oversized coats, Lance was pleased with the pretty picture she made with the sleeveless dress in a shade of deepest red of crushed rose petals. Her high heeled silver strappy sandals gave her the extra inches in height that enabled her to look directly into his eyes. Her ensemble was completed with a drawstring pouch of the same material as the dress, but in gold and a classic cut coat that she was slipping into.

"You look lovely," Lance said, his smile more genuine now. It was not just because he was telling the truth. Seeing her truly made him happy.

Elena's shy smile blossomed into something else that was stunning and totally transformed her. Gone was the shy girl lurking underneath a shabby pea coat, this was a fully confident woman who was at ease in her own skin and surroundings.

"Thank you," she said, coming out of the flat, closing the door behind her. She locked the door and turned to him, regarding Lance with a slight frown on her face. "You look…" Her head tilted slightly. "Incomplete."

Lance chuckled. "Well, cufflinks and bowties aren't my speciality."

"Lucky for you," Elena said and did something Lance would have not expected her, or any other woman in the world, to do. She stepped right into his personal space. Lance's surprise and all emotions associated with surprise rooted him to where he stood. "I am somewhat of an expert when it comes to cufflinks and bowties."

Lance looked at Lance, the gaze of her eyes unwavering on his. He did not want to say, he did not what to do. The only thing he could do was think of what was she doing and how was he supposed to react.

Elena was holding out her hand, palm up. Lance looked at her hand and then at Elena, wondering what he was supposed to do. His mind was racing, no single thought could be pinned down to help him at that moment.

_What did she want from him? _

_And could he…_

"Cufflinks, Lance," she said, the amusement in her voice reflected in the warmth of her eyes. "And your bowtie."

Lance looked at Elena, swallowing. He opened his mouth and shut it again.

The last time he was this thunderstruck in front of a woman was almost five years ago when they were in Rio de Janeiro, watching the _Carnival _and a woman wearing nothing more than body paint and strategically placed sequins with a reticulated python as her accessory approached Lance and asked him if he would be interested in '_petting'_ her snake. Which he did because he had enough tequila shots to be _not _sensible about anything and wanted to help Gwaine win against Arthur who was betting the content of his wallet –three hundred pounds- and his watch that Lance would not do it.

That was so long ago. And the woman had looked at him with barely concealed suggestion as to what she really wanted Lance to pet (and thankfully, Lance was drunk enough not being able to do anything about what the woman _really_ wanted).

And that had also been before Morgana. Well, before he and Morgana became an official couple that is. The trip to Brazil had been Lance's way to test if what he felt for Morgana was merely convenient or something else more serious. And also to give Morgana a chance to date other men. The trip was for two weeks. Fourth day into the trip, Lance packed his bags and left for London, leaving Gwaine, Merlin and Arthur in Brazil. He returned to London and went straight to Tintagel where Morgana was spending her university break. He did not even manage to get to the front door. Morgana was out riding when she saw Lance and came for him riding her horse. He did not have to tell her why he was there.

But she told him to never, ever leave her. He never did.

And now he was standing in the hallway outside his flat, his heart bleeding, looking at the woman before him whose smile was open and friendly and honest and without any suggestion, veiled or otherwise, behind it.

He put the cufflinks and bowtie on her upturned palm, his eyes on hers. She handed her little pouch to him, as she fastened the cufflinks. Silence fell between them; surprisingly comfortable.

It was time for the bowtie. She was tall enough in her heels to match Lance's height, but it still required him to move a bit closer to her. Or she to him.

There was nothing to think about. It was as natural as breathing. As natural as being who he was.

He took a step forward towards Elena, stepping into her personal space, allowing her presence fill his own.

And he bowed his head a little. To allow Elena to slide the fabric of the bow tie to back of his neck.

Elena took another step towards him.

Lance smiled, catching Elena's eyes as she worked on the bowtie.

Elena smiled back, holding her gaze.

It was a moment.

A very small moment in the expanse of their lives and everything else.

But it felt right.

=X=


	36. Chapter 36

Merlin got ready well before time and clattered downstairs to supervise the catering staff, because that is the responsible adult thing to do and has got nothing to with the _test platter_ promised by the caterer as a means of _quality control_. He found Mrs Baxter hovering outside the kitchen door, looking positively distraught; her kitchen had been taken over by strangers and she could do nothing about it. Merlin sat her down in the breakfast room adjoining the kitchen and fetched her a cup of tea. He sat with her, saying soothing things and it worked for a while, until one of the catering staff delivered the _test platter_ to Merlin. Mrs Baxter gave a scoff that belied her usual good nature and huffed out of the breakfast room. Merlin shrugged and dug into the platter heaped with sample of the dishes he had ordered for the occasion.

Merlin made his way through the various dishes with the sort of concentration he reserved for art and of course, food. Everything tasted fine, including things that organic and vegetarian and generally healthy. As he was chewing through some fish dish, he heard the sound of laughter coming from the hallway. Merlin picked up his plate and went out of the breakfast room, shouldering his way out of the door with his back first. He turned once he was outside the door and found Gwaine in the living room, talking to Baxter.

Merlin's breath caught. He mouth hung open, probably displaying the half chewed food in it.

Maybe it was the lighting in the room, maybe it was the tuxedo Gwaine wore, making him look like a gentleman of the old school…_new school_…

Merlin was getting confused and his eyes went wide with disbelief, perhaps with the acknowledgement that Gwaine du Bois, his best friend, was simply _gorgeous._

Of course Merlin had known Gwaine was gorgeous. It was so blatantly obvious that it sometimes can be a little annoying; the rest of humanity struggles with bed head, but Gwaine had never had nothing more than the perfect tresses he had. Even his bed head was gorgeous and this was confirmed by Arthur himself once, his expression halfway between disgust and awe. Gwaine was gorgeous with or without a beard, adding more to the list of advantages God had bestowed upon him.

Of course, Merlin prefers Gwaine with a beard; he does not know why but…

_Oh God. _

Merlin did a mental double take as he wondered since when he preferred Gwaine with a beard?

The fact that he preferred a man was never an issue because…well, Merlin really did not think it should be an issue. He was an artist and he had always had an appreciation and admiration for men and women. In fact, he thinks his group of friends are the single most best looking bunch of people he has ever laid eyes on. Of course, Merlin had to admit he was pretty easy on the eyes as well, but the point is, if he had admired his friends' looks, it was basically for the aesthetic values of it. Like Morgana's eyes, Guinevere's limbs, Arthur's jaw line and Lance's everything (_'Perfectly perfect and don't argue with me. I know I am right and you know I am right,' as Morgana loved to point out_). Merlin had never had any preference for how he would want any one of them to be, he just took them as they are.

And now Merlin found himself feeling something he has never felt before. There was Gwaine, standing at the hallway, talking to Baxter about something and here Merlin was, wishing that he was next to him, listening to him speak, drinking in the Irish accent and laughter tinted voice. The distance between seemed too far and Merlin found himself frowning at Baxter, wondering what was it the butler was saying to Gwaine that he has the latter's complete attention. It must have something earth-shattering because here Merlin was, standing for the last five minutes or so and Gwaine has yet to notice him.

_That_ has never happened before. Merlin had gotten used to having Gwaine's attention on him at all times. In fact, Merlin does not mind. He has never minded. Gwaine kept Merlin functioning normally; like moving him when the queue he is in is moving, throwing a blanket over him when he falls asleep on the sofa or picking out the olives from the slice of pizza before handing it to Merlin. Of course, Lance and Arthur or Morgana and Guinevere would do the same as well, but for the majority of the time, it was only ever Gwaine.

And no, Gwaine was not Merlin's child minder. Gwaine was…

Merlin's train of thoughts was interrupted when the doorbell rang. Baxter excused himself and went out of the living room. Merlin found himself approaching Gwaine. And found himself rather nervous as he did so.

It was as if he had never seen Gwaine before.

_Or…_

It was as if he was seeing Gwaine for the first time.

"Merlin." Gwaine's greeting was one filled with his usual cheer. Merlin's insides did something of a flip-flop so intense that he was afraid he was going to throw up. He swallowed the fish he had been chewing on and off since coming out of the breakfast room. Gwaine turned to him, a grin in place; the grin that has charmed many women and a fair score of men as well…

Merlin felt something…an unnamed emotion that could might as well indigestion…in the region near his tummy, but before it could take hold, Gwaine stepped up to Merlin and started adjusting his bowtie. Of course, Gwaine looked as if he had a whole army of designers dressing him up; he was perfectly turned out, looking as if he could conquer worlds with his disarming grin and affable manners. He probably could, Merlin thought, trying not to squirm so much as Gwaine's fingers brushed against the skin of his neck.

Merlin was again surprised when he felt himself flinching at Gwaine's touch. It has never happened before; Gwaine was a bit more touchy-feely than the rest of them, save for maybe Morgana and Merlin was used to that. But now, he did not want to.

Actually, he wanted to prolong the contact of Gwaine's touch on his skin, but he did not want to as well.

It was as if he was asking for a little too much, afraid that the longer Gwaine keep on touching him, the less happy Merlin would be when Gwaine did not.

Gwaine finished with the bowtie and removed his hand from Merlin's collar. Merlin frowned when he realized that Gwaine's hand was no longer in contact with his person. He did not know what was worse; having Gwaine touch him, not having Gwaine touch him or this profound confusion as to why it suddenly matters so much as to what Gwaine does…

Like why it should matter when Gwaine smacked his lips as he eyed the food on the plate Merlin was holding.

And should it really matter that Gwaine picked he food from the fork in Merlin's hand with his mouth?

And should it really matter, the way he smiled and his eyes twinkled with mischief?

Why should all these things matter when it something that Merlin was used to all this while?

Why should it matter when _this_, whatever _this_ was, was nothing new between them?

It was not until Gwaine moved away from him that Merlin realized he had been holding his breath. Well, more as if he had forgotten how to breathe really, but still.

Merlin stood where he was, against his will that was rebelling against the physical distance forming between him and Gwaine. It was if he needed to be near Gwaine…

Which was crazy. And weird. And freaky.

Because Gwaine was Gwaine. And Merlin was Merlin and they were the best mates there ever was.

Merlin almost hummed at the thought of how lucky it was that Gwaine was his best friend. It's a pretty solid bond, and nothing can come between them…

Like that huge, hulking man who just walked into the living room with Lance and greeted Gwaine in a way that seemed much too…familiar than just the usual camaraderie Gwaine shares with the men he, Arthur and Lance play football with. Lance gave Merlin a salute and a smile and returned the way he came, heading towards a pretty blond woman who was waiting for him at the door way, her fingers twisting around the drawstrings of the little pouch she carried. Merlin wondered who she was. And it did not escape Merlin's notice that Lance looked a bit tired, perhaps he was still recovering from his journey to New York. Merlin found about the journey on Monday morning when he wondered out loud where Lance was as he paced Gwaine's office while he waited for Gwaine to finish a brief he had been working on just before making Gwaine buy him second breakfast. Lance had returned to London on Monday evening, and managed to meet them up for a hasty lunch the next day. He did not elaborate much on what happened in New York. Merlin and Gwaine guessed that it could not be any good, simply because Uther Pendragon was involved in the equation.

The sound of laughter diverted Merlin's attention back to the newcomer, quite possibly the most tallest man Merlin had ever seen (and that is saying something because Merlin hangs out with some pretty tall people and he is no midget himself either), was very _friendly_ with Gwaine. Too friendly. In fact they looked as if there were getting on like a house on fire.

A bitter coil, something akin to nausea, followed closely by irritation, with anger just adding a little heat to it, unwound itself within Merlin. The tall guy had his hand on Gwaine's arm and was leaning forward…honestly, there was no need to lean in _that _close; Gwaine sure as hell was not whispering and there was no other noise in the room to interfere with whatever he was saying. And whatever it was that Gwaine said, it must have been one hilarious thing because the tall guy threw back his head and laughed heartily. He smiled at Gwaine, shaking his head as he said something and Merlin saw that _Mr Tall-But-With-No-Concept-Of-Personal-Space_ had alarmingly clear blue eyes and dimples.

_Dimples. How can he compete with dimples?_

A thought, which, naturally, caused Merlin to do another double take, for he was not sure when _it_ became a competition.

_It _here implying being the sole recipient of Gwaine's attention.

Mr Tall straightened up and threw back his head, laughing. Merlin could not help to see that his shirt and coat were pulled taut across his chest and shoulders in a most alluring way...

Merlin could not help feeling he was losing...

One of the catering staff came in and relieved Merlin of the plate he had been holding, halting all depressing thoughts; halting it, not making it stop or dissipate entirely. Merlin mumbled a thank you and could not say more than that as he struggled to rearrange the expressions on his face from something less nasty than the one he was sure he was sporting at that moment because Gwaine beckoned Merlin to him. Merlin obliged and took up his rightful place next to Gwaine.

"Merlin, I'd like you to meet Percival Thatcher. He and I went to uni together…"

There was more to that introduction but it was all Merlin heard.

Percival Thatcher. Tall, muscled, dimpled and with an easy smile.

Merlin recognized him then.

Percival Thatcher.

The man Gwaine dated back in uni.

The bitter coil near the region of Merlin's suddenly had a more comprehensible definition.

Jealousy.

=X=


	37. Chapter 37

_Gwaine's chapter. Look out for f-bombs (two of them). I apologize beforehand. _

_And it's been awhile since my disclaimer and in that time, no, I did not come into ownership of Merlin. I would, however, love to own a Round Table (with the added accessories of Knights and King and Queen). _

* * *

><p>If the sour look Arthur threw at Gwaine was any indication, the party was a success.<p>

Arthur and Guinevere arrived at perfectly on time; they were the last to arrive and therefore were genuinely surprised to see the amount of people gathered in Gwaine's house. Guinevere was delighted and touched and Arthur just a level below fuming because he does not like surprises, especially surprises that puts him in centre of people's attention. But when it was announced that it was a party for his engagement as well, he managed to relax and enjoy a bit and then spent most of his time showing off Guinevere. Of course, he was subtle about it (not so much to Guinevere, naturally, but she let it slide), but there was no doubt that Arthur and the future Mrs Pendragon were enjoying themselves immensely. Of course, more celebrations ensued when Gwaine and Merlin noticed fairly early on that Guinevere was not drinking the champagne and when Gwaine prompted her, asking her if there was something she would like to tell them all, she announced that she and Arthur were expecting a baby in the summer. That gave more reason to celebrate and of course, there was the rather heated discussion on godfather duties between himself, Merlin and Lance, which was put on hold until a more convenient time, when there were less guests and more room for wrestling.

Gwaine did the obligatory host's circuit around the formal sitting room, making sure everyone was having a good time and everyone had a drink in their hands. Lance was across the room, doing the same while Arthur and Guinevere were holding court amongst a few mutual friends. There was a moment of panic when Gwaine realized Merlin was nowhere to be seen, but a quick scan around the room and he saw Merlin near the grand staircase. He was with Morgause and her daughter, Nina, entertaining them with his juggling skills.

Gwaine had seen the look on Merlin's face when he introduced him to Percival, invited as a guest because he played in their weekend football team (he played in goal and Gwaine had lost count at the number of goalposts broken when Percival collided into them during games). He had seen the struggle it took for Merlin to be civil to Gwaine's former boyfriend. It was really rather sweet and endearing, since Merlin obviously does not know what he was doing or feeling and Gwaine was in no hurry to help him out either. In fact, Gwaine found it rather flattering to have Merlin (whom they had pegged down as asexual after the myriads of men and women thrown in his direction that had left him unimpressed as well as just a touch nonplussed) to be all flustered about Gwaine. This was good.

And Gwaine is just going to leave it at that. If anything…anything at all were to happen between them, Merlin has to make the first move.

Gwaine…well, he was contented to just wait.

The champagne (he lost count after the third toast) he drank was working its magic in him, keeping him just pleasantly buzzed. Well, it could be the champagne, could be Merlin all possessive of him, but whatever it was, it gave Gwaine a good feeling. He talked and laughed, solved the minor issue regarding the keys to the silver cabinet (Mrs Baxter did not trust the supervisors of the catering staff) and generally had a good time at the party.

There was also the small matter of the blond woman who came with Lance and was now spending most of her time by herself looking at the various photographs and painting on display in the panelled walls of the hallway between the formal sitting room and the dining room. Gwaine did know what was worse; that a woman as beautiful as her shying away ever so subtly from the crowd or the fact that she had not refreshed her glass of wine since it went empty almost twenty five minutes ago. She was the next person Gwaine had intended to talk to…actually she was the first person Gwaine wanted to talk to all evening. Gwaine could not remember meeting her (and he would have definitely remembered her if he had for she had this wholesomeness about her that was refreshing and warm and lovely to behold) but her attendance at this party was as monumental as she arriving with Lance. Gwaine did not have any time to speak to Lance; the latter keeping himself busy with the guests and generally playing the role of a host way too perfectly for it to be anything but real. Gwaine and Lance had been friends for too long for Gwaine not to realize when Lance was not being himself. And that the easy smile he wore was more forced than one would believe it to be.

Gwaine was about to make his way towards the blond woman when Percival came up to him, with nothing more than a general inquiry to how was he holding up. Gwaine grinned, indicating he was fine; his grin widening at the thought of what this lovely little meeting between them was doing to Merlin. Gwaine took a step towards Percival, unbothered as Percival was regarding personal space because Percival was big enough to make an entire room his personal space. Gwaine did this mainly so that he could put himself in Merlin's line of vision…

And what a bad idea that turned out to be.

Merlin was looking at him, his eyes flashing and his countenance having the same amount of cheer as deepest point of an Arctic winter. He was still juggling and Gwaine could swear Merlin had never looked anymore sexier than he was the whole evening; the furious concentration he utilized for the juggling contrasting yet complimenting beautifully against his apparent rage.

_At what? _

Gwaine's knees almost gave way when Merlin caught the _matryoshka_ dolls he had been juggling one by one without even looking at them…not out of fear or anything, but mostly because how _hot_ Merlin looked at that moment. He turned and placed the dolls back on the shelf he had picked them up from, went on his haunches, gave Nina a hug, a smile and a lollypop he fished out of his pocket. He straightened up and looked at Gwaine, his eyes blue steel that froze Gwaine's blood. He started walking towards him, with the determination of a man who has been pushed way too far for way too long. And Gwaine knew he had fucked up royally. And that he was fucked.

_Things had been going just alright. It had been just for a laugh, the whole thing of making Merlin jealous. _

_And now…_

_He seriously did not want this….._

Merlin came to stand before Gwaine. "We need to talk." He was speaking to Gwaine, but his eyes were on Percival, whose laughing eyes belied the serious expression he wore. Percival grinned at Merlin, the self – satisfied grin of having accomplished something or being in the know of a big a secret that was teetering towards not being a secret anymore.

"Now." This time Merlin looked at Gwaine and because of their heights difference (just a couple of inches, not a big deal and whenever the fact that Gwaine is shorter than his mates were brought up, Gwaine always maintained that he had the extra inches where it mattered and _that_ would shut them all up very quickly or cause pillows –or anything close at hand- to be thrown in his direction), Gwaine found himself looking up at Merlin, simultaneously afraid and (he could not believe it himself) extremely horny for Merlin.

And to make his point clear, because Gwaine was beyond hints and all that (Gwaine blames it on the fire blazing in Merlin's eyes; never has Merlin looked more assertive…it was a good look on him), Merlin grabbed Gwaine's hand and tugged him towards him.

Somewhere between Gwaine taking a step towards him and Merlin turning to march them out of the crowded sitting room, their fingers were became entwined, laced together in a perfect fit.

Gwaine brushed his thumb experimentally over the back of Merlin's hand, a barely-there caress of his knuckle.

Merlin's step did not falter. But he did turn around and glanced at Gwaine.

His smile small and the smoulder in his eyes spoke volumes.

Gwaine smiled, giving a Merlin's hand a tentative squeeze. And had the satisfaction of seeing Merlin turn a delightful shade of pink. As well as an increased urgency in which Merlin led Gwaine out of the room full of people to somewhere less intrusive.

The party, Gwaine thought, is a definite success.

=X=


	38. Chapter 38

I came across this wonderful ArWen fic, with Lancelot in it, and it is a stunning piece of work. Doubts, by EachPeachPearPlum ( www. fanfiction s / 8737222/ 1 / Doubts). I was floored. Go on, have a look. You will not be disappointed.

And this is mine :) Show me some love?

And of course, my love to all you wonderful, wonderful readers, old friends and new. Thank you.

* * *

><p>Guinevere was having a great time. She was glad the guys threw the party; Arthur needed it, not that he would admit it. As happy as he was with his small group of friends, Arthur was very much a social creature and thrived when the attention was on him. Of course, a surprise party was not one of his most favourite things in the world, but there was no doubting that he was very much enjoying himself, after the initial irritation of wanting to kill Merlin, Gwaine and Lance had passed.<p>

And of course, the party was also partly about her, what with her engagement to Arthur and all. They have yet to make to official, but sharing the happy news with a bunch of people who genuinely cared about them, did not feel like a bad idea after all, if the joy in Merlin, Gwaine and Lance at hearing the news of her pregnancy was anything to go by.

Overall, it has been a great party thus far. Guinevere was seated on one of the sofas littered around the sitting room (Arthur's order) and was watching people around her. Next to her on the sofa was Leon Osmond's girlfriend, who was talking to his colleagues from Pendragon Industries. She made sure Guinevere was included in the conversation as well, but Guinevere was content to just sit and relax for a bit. Arthur was near the bar, talking to Leon; she suspected they would have been talking about Leon's position in the company. Arthur had already talked to Leon over the phone a day after he got the announcement, telling him that Pendragon Industries were lucky to be in such capable hands. He had explained to Leon, from the small prints of the company law that no one but Arthur would read (as would Gwaine, but he would never make such matters public, because it would like an _overtly_ responsible…Pendragon-like responsible…thing to do), that he was still part of the company even though he is no longer making the active decisions. And that he wanted to try something away from the city. Leon was struggling between accepting the prestigious post, the responsibility that he knew he could handle without much problem and the fact that he had come between what was rightfully Arthur and his birth right. Arthur had told Leon that the corporate world has no room for archaic concepts such as that; nor did he feel he was giving up anything if Leon was the one going to shouldering the responsibilities at the company. Arthur was probably now telling Leon about his lands in Tintagel and what he plans to do, just for the sake of assuring Leon that he has things lined up for him in the future. Things that he is looking forward to doing.

Leon was looking a little less flustered, Arthur's assurances were as much help as the drink in his hand, Guinevere mused.

Over on the other side of the room was Lance, surrounded by a bunch of female guests who were watching him listen to an elderly woman who Guinevere recognised from church. And of course, Lance is oblivious to the attention, treating all women with the same courtesy and politeness. Attention was something that Lance was used to (any of them, for the matter) and with him being a widower and all, the attention from the women seemed to have doubled or tripled; from the genuine sympathizers to ones with agendas of their own.

They were all wasting their time.

And Guinevere supposed if they knew the blond girl currently browsing through the photographs on the wall in the hallway had came with Lance…well, there would be much scratching and hair pulling as well as a group of women leaving in a huff.

Guinevere wondered who the blond girl was…

When Merlin and Gwaine walked into her view, halting her train of thoughts. Guinevere's gaze inadvertently followed them, noting with much glee the fact that Merlin had his hands firmly locked unto Gwaine's and it looked as if none of them had any intentions of letting it go anytime soon.

Guinevere turned to Arthur, and sure enough, Arthur too was looking at Merlin and Gwaine leave the room. As was Lance from across the room. As was the hundred guests gathered in the sitting room. There was silence in the room and then someone said, "Well, it's about time…" and everyone laughed and conversations were picked up and resumed.

Guinevere found Arthur by her side, taking a seat on the sofa's armrest.

"Would you believe that? Upstaged at our own engagement party? Thrown by those clowns in the first place." Arthur sounded annoyed, but there was no mistaking the look in his eyes. He was happy for his friends, even though he was pouting in a most petulant manner.

"Aww," Guinevere said, touching the side of Arthur's face. "You angry face is absolutely adorable."

Arthur laughed, looking at Guinevere. He pressed a quick kiss on her palm, before kissing her forehead.

"It's about time anyway," Arthur said. "I was beginning to worry about Merlin and Gwaine. And no, you are not allowed to repeat that to them."

Guinevere laughed, squeezing Arthur's hand. She knew Arthur cared for his friends. More than he let on. And with Merlin and Gwaine getting together, well, life was moving on in a good, happy pace.

Someone called for Arthur and he left her at the sofa, looking very reluctant to leave her. Guinevere gestured him to go ahead. As she watched him go, content with the Universe and her life, she could not help but to look for Lance in the crowd, feeling a lump rising in her throat.

_ Surrounded by so many and yet so lonely. _

And inadvertently, her eyes sought out the blond woman, who was still in the hallway, perusing the photographs on the hall.

_ Who was she to Lance? _

It was inevitable that her thoughts would go to Morgana. This was the sort of party that Morgana loved. Actually, Morgana thrived in any social settings and situations, which made her the group's public front. Guinevere smiled fondly as she thought what Morgana would do at finding out about Guinevere's engagement and pregnancy. A massive wedding planning. She would have considered it an affront if her brother's wedding to her best friend did not make it to the front page of the society pages. Then, shopping for the most glamorous maternity clothes all over Europe, bringing Arthur along to pay for it all and Gwaine, Merlin and Lance to carry the bags. After that, getting Lance to work on their baby to ensure that their babies could sync their play dates.

Guinevere bit her lips, in an effort to quell the dissolving lump in her throat, sad that her baby would never feel a love as fierce and loyal as Morgana's. She blinked rapidly, not wanting the tears to fall, or anyone to notice her crying. She was happy this evening and wanted to remain so. It is what Morgana would have wanted.

And she would have balked if Guinevere's tears messed up her mascara.

Guinevere decided she had enough of rest. She got up from her seat and searched the room for Arthur, feeling just a little lonely now. She spotted him at the staircase leading to the upper gallery; talking to Lance, Merlin and Gwaine. Merlin's red and slightly bruised lips and Gwaine's messed up hair (which Guinevere noted that he did not bother to straighten up) indicated that Merlin and Gwaine had most probably been making out, rather vigorously too. Guinevere suppressed a giggle and tried not to get overwhelmed at the amount of gorgeousness the guys culminated just standing there talking and laughing. And it was not just their physical good looks, but their friendship. They stood in a loose circle, not completely shutting the world off. Anyone could walk up to them and they would be treated with every courtesy. But their world was only each other. A closed off world yes, but it was built on an unshakeable bond. Each would walk through fire for the other.

As would she, Guinevere thought, knowing that she was a part of them. To be so blessed…

Guinevere was almost at Arthur's side when she realized that the room had fallen silent. The guys, they too were quiet; Merlin and Gwaine looking at Arthur, while Lance and Arthur were looking ahead at the front door, at the guest who was only then arriving.

Guinevere did not know what was more shocking.

Uther Pendragon walking into a party hosted in Gwaine's house.

Or the fact that Uther Pendragon walking into a party at all.

Or Uther Pendragon looking nervous and uncertain.

Either way, seeing him there was not only a shock for a Guinevere but for the rest of guests as well.

All eyes in the room were either on the elder Pendragon or the younger.

Guinevere stepped up beside Arthur, taking his hand into hers. Arthur acknowledged Guinevere with a squeeze of her hand and pulling her closer to him. His gaze however, remained locked on Uther, who stood at the doorway, looking into the room. Guinevere noticed Merlin, Gwaine and Lance positioning themselves in front of Arthur and her, as if shielding them from Uther.

It was Lance who took a step towards Uther, his expression one of neutral gladness.

"I…I…"

Maybe it was as painful to Arthur as it was to Guinevere to see the powerful, confident man falter in his speech. Arthur put a hand on Merlin's shoulder, stepping through between him and Gwaine, giving Guinevere's hand another squeeze before letting it go.

"Father," Arthur said, positioning himself as the shield between his father and his friends. It seemed that it was as much of a greeting he could come up for his father and Guinevere felt that it should not be that way between a father and son who loved each other very much. For that is what it was, the love of a father who only wanted the best for his son and the love of a son not wanting to let his father down.

"I was at Tintagel," Uther said, taking a step towards Arthur. Gwaine took a bold step forward, planting himself firmly beside Arthur. Lance was just ahead of Gwaine, more on Uther's side than Arthur's. Which was only natural, seeing that Lance would want to avoid any conflict, new or old, coming to fore. Merlin was beside Guinevere, his shoulder touching hers, assuring her with this presence.

Arthur did not respond to what Uther had to say, so the latter continued. "And I…well, I think there is something that I need to give you. It's yours anyway, but, since you have not taken it, I…I…Here." Uther put a hand into the inside pocket of his jacket and withdrew a small box. He came towards Arthur, extending the hand with the box to him. "It was your Mother's. I am sure you remember it. I….You should have it. Or rather you should give it to Guinevere. As I…" Uther swallowed, unable to continue because this was something rather new and foreign for him. For Arthur as well, because it was partly the cold look in his eyes that was causing Uther to falter.

Everyone in the room knew that Uther was apologizing to Arthur. And everyone was waiting for Arthur to say something. There was only one thing Guinevere knew Arthur should do. If he did not do that now, Guinevere knew Arthur would spend the rest of his life regretting it.

Guinevere went forward. Arthur saw her and turned towards her, reaching out for her. Guinevere took Arthur's hand and tugged him towards his father. Arthur does not have to apologize; there was nothing for him to apologize anyway. But he could acknowledge what Uther was trying to do.

Uther's nervous countenance softened a little when Arthur took a step towards him. His eyes were bright and it was clear he was struggling with his emotions as much as his son was. When Arthur was within an arm's reach, Uther took the box he had been holding and placed it into Arthur's hand. Arthur's breath hitched; he clearly knew what was in the box.

Father and son turned their faces away from each other in a gesture that was heartbreakingly alike.

Having done what he came to do, Uther Pendragon nodded, glanced at Lance, managed a small smile and turned to leave.

"Father?" Guinevere did not have to look at Arthur to know that he was crying. "Maybe you can stay? We'll be…dinner...There'll be…"

"My pleasure, Arthur," Uther said, turning to face his son again. "It will be my pleasure." A tear dropped from his eyes, staining his coat darker still.

Lance was the first to move. He gave Uther a hug, a gesture that surprised his father – in – law, but none of them who knew him.

"I don't have to hug him, do I?" Merlin's nervous whispering carried to Guinevere, causing her to grin at him.

Gwaine stepped up to Arthur, still wearing a defiant look in his face. "I am still going to take on your lawyers."

Lance's expression was that of being at the receiving end of an electric shock. Guinevere tensed, afraid that everything that had been tentatively fixed will be undone again. Arthur's eyes narrowed; Guinevere found herself wondering if it was aimed at Gwaine or his father.

"I would not expect anything less from Anna's son," Uther said, his smile not that of a predator sensing blood but that of an indulgent uncle. "I look forward to it."

Gwaine was the first to laugh. "Let's drink to that!"

"He'd say anything to drink, wouldn't he?" Merlin said, shaking his head, but looking relieved nonetheless.

The tension in the room dissipated. People went back to their conversations; there is no doubt fresh topics concerning the Pendragons would be discussed, but that was inevitable. Their little group by the doorway closed in, Uther included in the circle.

"Go on then," Gwaine nudged Arthur, glancing at the small box in his hand.

Arthur looked at his father and then at Guinevere. He opened the box.

It was the ring Pendragon men gave their wives when they get betrothed; square cut ruby in the shade that was reminiscent of the red field where the dragon of the Pendragon family crest rested, surrounded by brilliant cut diamonds set in gold. The sheen of the gold and the gems were unblemished despite the decades, perhaps even centuries, it has been in the family. This was the ring that proclaimed a woman as a Pendragon by marriage.

They stood around Arthur and Guinevere, the people who matter the most to them both, watching as Arthur took Guinevere's hand into his. Guinevere could not help to think as if this was a test. To see if the ring would fit, if she could fit into the family. She knew that in the event it did not fit, Arthur would get it to a jeweller and have it adjusted for her finger. But Guinevere did not want that. She did not want to change the ring, a revered symbol and an object of such exquisite beauty. It seemed wrong to Guinevere to change a ring like that.

The ring felt warm against her skin as Arthur slid it into her finger. Guinevere was looking Arthur, too nervous to look at the ring, afraid to see that it would not fit.

When Arthur looked up at Guinevere, the grin on his face was what Guinevere had come to think of as her personal bit of sunshine.

She did not have to look to know that the ring was a perfect fit for her.

And she did have to be told what a perfect fit she was for the Pendragon family.

=X=


	39. Chapter 39

**_Elena's chapter. Show her some love? _**

**_And thank you for everyone for reading, following, favourite-ing, reviewing this little fic (well, it started out as little and now it's almost forty chapters). I love you all :) _**

**_Merlin does not belong to me. It belongs to all of us._ **

* * *

><p>Gwaine du Bois' house was a direct lift from an interior decoration magazine. As well as a structural preservation society newsletter. It was beautiful and amazing and made even more opulent by Christmas decorations as well as the people gathered in the house.<p>

Elena was so glad she accepted Lance's offer.

At the same time, Elena wished she had not.

Well, mostly she was glad.

Because as much as she was having fun, Elena wished she was not so overwhelmed by how wonderful everything was. It was wonderful…the best evening she had ever had in so many years. But it just would not do for her to be all wide – eyed and slack jawed most of the time.

She did not where to look; at the things in the beautiful house (antiques and modern pieces of furniture and knickknacks, polished surfaces, priceless artwork and of course the photographs telling a life filled with much happiness and adventure), the people gathered for the party (all of them dressed in the finest array of clothes, which Elena was sure cost many times the cost of her entire outfit from head to toe), the beautiful people who threw the party (Lance and his two friends took turns to give a speech that had much hilarity and warmth) or the handsome couple for whom the party was for.

Elena knew that such an opportunity will not come for her again. She made sure she enjoyed herself; which was not a problem at all, because everyone she talked to were nice and included her in conversations; her dress, her shoes, her hair and even her little pouch were complimented upon kindly by the women she spoke to. They talked of general things; shopping for Christmas, failing at diets and clothes. Elena was glad she could keep up with most of the conversation, she had been afraid they would be talking of things that…well, things that she could not understand, like politics. But diets she understood and was able to sympathize and empathize.

A couple of men approached her with much warmth and friendliness and Elena did not know what to do but to smile and keep and talking. Her dealings with men had been limited. Well, she had wrestled a couple of them, but that was when she was still living with the Simms and one of her foster brothers found her diary and threatened to read it aloud during dinner. She had written about Hugh Miller, the school rugby hero, her first crush and the first male person she had ever scribbled her name attached to his surname.

Naturally, she had grown out of all of that now. At least she hoped she had. She had surprised herself at how calm she had been when she walked out of the flat and saw Lance. Or the expanse of his shoulder as he stood at his door. She had waited for him to turn around upon hearing her, but it took a full minute before Elena realized that Lance was dealing with some sort of internal turmoil and she took matters into her own hands by calling out for him. Already amazed at the magnificent view of his back, Elena prepared herself for the visual assault of gorgeousness when Lance turned around.

What she saw, aside from the fact that Lance was breathtakingly handsome and should come with his own traffic warning signs, was a man who was both lonely and sad and struggling not to be and struggling not to show it to the world. The haunted look in his eyes were fleeting but she caught a glimpse of it before he quickly composed and presented himself the way he had always been expected to.

The grieving widower who is moving on with his life.

Elena, who found her confidence at an all time high after two generous slices of orange cake, multiple cups of teas and the general contentment that she had shopped for clothes and it had been worthwhile (both on her finances and on her figure), decided that while she is free to develop a crush on Lance, which will be unrequited, of course, but then again, she did not mind; she was sure that it would have been in defiance with several laws of the universe if she _did not_ crush on Lance, today was not the day for her to be all pathetic and weak-kneed. Lance did not need another member to his fan club. He needed a friend. And if there was anything Elena excelled at, it was being a friend. Or a sister. So, she stepped up to him and became just that. A friend.

Of course, once they got to Gwaine's house, it was apparent that Lance did not need her as a crutch. Gwaine and Merlin honed in on Lance's less than cheery mood and surrounded him, looking concerned, which Lance waved away with a smile, mentioning something about jet lag. Guests started arriving and there was a crisis in the kitchen that needed the hosts' attention so Elena was left to fend for herself. Not that she minded because she saw the look that both Merlin Emrys and Gwaine du Bois gave her and knew they were much curious as to who she was and her relationship with Lance. Fortunately before either of them could act on it, more guests arrived and finally Arthur Pendragon and his fiancée, the very beautiful Guinevere Leodegrance, made an entrance. Elena retreated to a corner of the room with a drink she got from a tray of a passing waiter. She was immediately enveloped into a group of women who expressed their amazement at how wonderfully golden her hair was.

There was much to look at around the house, so Elena would often drift towards the mantelpiece or the hallway where she looked at the photographs on display there, seeing the moments frozen in time that she could never even dream of in her own life. So many adventures, so much laughter and so much happiness. Lance and his friends seemed to have had it all.

Elena lingered in the periphery of the room, allowing people to introduce her to others. Of course, she would occasionally look for Lance and when she spotted him, he was almost always looking at her. She did mind that he kept a whole room between them. It was not like they were on a date or something. She was just another guest. She was mingling and that felt infinitely better than being on the crosshairs of Gwaine, Merlin and Guinevere, who Elena realized quite soon enough, were circling her as a shark would a photographer in a cage. Of course, they were not quite shark-like, but Elena was terrified of them all the same.

But thankfully, certain events happened that took their attention off her.

For Elena, attending the party itself had been an event of its own. But more drama ensued, ensuring that the people attending the party had plenty of things to talk. Very early on was Merlin Emrys who looked for a moment there as if he was going to take on that mountain of a man with the massive muscles and an impressive set of dimples. Gangly Merlin almost looked as if he wanted to deck the colossal man, but instead, he grabbed Gwaine's hand in a most possessive way and stalked out of the room, much to everyone's delight. When they returned to the room, it was in a manner that was quite opposite to how they left. Merlin walked into the living room first and was immediately accosted by Arthur and Lance. Gwaine came in moments later, the grin on his face that of a cat that had got the cream. Everyone else did not notice them, or pretended not to notice them. And Elena too feigned indifference.

Then Uther Pendragon walked into the room and Elena was certain the temperature in the room fell a few degrees. There was nervous energy in the air and Elena was certain there was going too much yelling. She felt proud though, when she saw Lance putting himself between father and son. She was not sure if lines were drawn then, between the factions of the opposing Pendragons, but she was certain Lance's action was to act more as a mediator than to align himself to any person.

Thankfully, whatever issues between father and son were resolved. There was no hugging…well, there was, but it was Lance who hugged Uther Pendragon. And the future Mrs Pendragon got an engagement ring that caused every woman in the room to gasp. And then sigh with happiness.

Elena was glad that whatever problems the Pendragons have, today at least, father and seem to be on the road to reconciliation. As dinner was announced and they were led to the poshest dining room Elena had ever seen, she heard whispers amongst the guests that father and son had conflicted over Arthur wanting to marry Guinevere. Elena found herself frowning and then decided that she not want to listen to any gossip. Guinevere Leodegrance seemed like the sweetest woman and Elena was determined to speak to her before the evening ended.

Apparently, Elena was not the only one who had determined to have a conversation to someone she barely knew. The dining room had been opened up and three tables were set up, the one in the middle was the largest, seating almost thirty, with two others on the side, seating another fifteen each. Elena took a seat at one of the smaller table, glad that she had the elderly woman Lance had been talking to most of the evening on her right. The seat on her left was unoccupied, but it was not for long.

Arthur Pendragon slid next to her with a graceful ease, as Merlin Emrys said something to the elderly lady and then led her to the main table, where he pulled out a chair for her next to Lance. Elena caught Lance's eyes on her, a slightly panicked look and the reluctant wave he gave Arthur who was waving at him most enthusiastically. Gwaine du Bois was at the head of the main table, with Guinevere to his right and Uther to his left. Both Gwaine and Guinevere were looking at Elena and smiling broadly.

Elena could not move her facial muscles. She supposed she smiled, but it must have come out more as a grimace than anything. She was not panicking, not yet, but she was not enjoying the experience either. She felt like the proverbial deer caught in the headlights was sure she had the exact expression as said deer.

Arthur pulled out her chair for her just as Merlin returned. And Elena, not prone to making a scene of any sort, took her seat and swallowed, not knowing what to expect.

She should have just stayed at home. An orange cake for company was less stressful than one of the richest men in the country and one of the nation's most beloved young artists.

"Arthur Pendragon," Arthur Pendragon introduced himself, quite unnecessarily, after he had sat down. Casting a glance at Merlin, who was taking a seat next to her, Arthur added, quite unnecessarily as well, "And this is Merlin Emrys."

"Elena Godfrey." Elena thanked the saints and God that her mental faculties did not fail her. She noticed her hands were trembling and kept them out of sight on her lap. There was just a little too much breakables on the table and Elena did not want to risk any accidents.

"Lovely to meet you, my dear," Arthur said, taking a seat beside her. He leaned towards her, but was mindful of personal space and just plain good manners. "And I have to apologize our first meeting is over the starters, but you know how parties are."

As he spoke, he took the napkin on the plate, unclasped the ring from it and spread it on his lap. Merlin was doing the same and Elena decided to risk moving her hands, in case either Arthur or Merlin decided to help her. She would faint if they did. And that would be even more dramatic than breaking the fine china or crystal on the table. Elena's other quandry was whether she ought to look to her right or left, because she did not want either of them to feel left out. Her problems were temporarily fixed by the catering staff putting plates of soup in front of them. Elena concentrated on the lovely treat the tomato and orange soup was serving up to her eyes and nose. She waited until everyone else had started eating before picking up her own spoon.

The soup was divine.

Arthur had about two spoons of soup before turning his attention back to Elena. "Just to be clear, if you are crashing this party, we don't mind," he told her and it was miracle that she did not choke on her soup. "We've done our bit of crashing parties, haven't we, Merlin?"

Merlin nodded. Putting his spoon down, he followed through with an explanation. "Yes. Chennai. In South India. Crashed a wedding actually." Arthur was nodding in agreement and the sort of glee that comes from highly ridiculous adventures. "Not that anyone seemed to mind. The hosts were honoured."

"So, if you are crashing this party, we are honoured," Arthur remarked, with Merlin nodding in delighted agreement. Elena wondered if this was an elaborate way of getting her to admit that she was Lance's date.

"I am not crashing this party," Elena tried not to show how desperate she was at proving this point.

"Yes. We are aware of that," Arthur said, looking at her. And then a smile bloomed into his face. "You are Lance's plus one." Elena felt instantly at ease, knowing that what felt like a mild version of the Spanish Inquisition was just their way of communicating.

Elena managed to coax a smile. "I am," she replied. "I am also his neighbour. Actually, I am house-sitting for the Watsons…"

Merlin interrupted her, realization dawning on his features. "You would not happen to be the neighbour who baked the fabulous scones, would you?"

"That would be me." It always made Elena happy when the reputation of her baked goods preceded her.

"Excellent," Merlin said, his excitement palpable. "It's a pleasure to finally meet you."

"Thank you, the pleasure is all mine, really," Elena said, truthfully.

The plates of soup were cleared and replaced with chicken, bacon and pineapple brochettes served with a spiced sauce. Elena almost kicked herself for not packing a notebook into her handbag (a sorry excuse of an handbag really, even though it is quite pretty, because there is no room for anything else after she had put in her compact powder and lipstick). She needed to remember what she was eating, so that she could try it on her own one day.

Arthur waited until the staff had finished serving them before picking up the conversation again. "I don't suppose Lance did the introductory circuit?" he asked, spearing a chicken with his fork.

Elena felt her midsection constrict a little. Any other woman, she knew, would have baulked at having to spend the evening with the man who was supposed to be her date across the room from her all the time. But didn't she decide not too long ago that she was fine with whatever she and Lance were doing? "No. he's…um…"

Arthur was tactful enough not to let Elena falter with her reply. "Just a little distracted," he said, glancing in the general direction where Lance was seated at. Elena was too terrified to look. She did not know what to expect. "Doesn't matter. I am brilliant at introduction and back story."

Elena laughed. To her right, Merlin added, in a matter of fact way, "He is."

"Let's see," Arthur said, putting his fork down and reaching for his glass of wine. "You already know Merlin. And that's my lady love, Guinevere Leodegrance. We're having a baby…"

"Congratulations."

"Thank you."

"Gwaine du Bois, whose house we are in. Cousin, regretfully. But an excellent barrister…" Arthur may sound regretful but Elena could only see fondness in his eyes when he talked about his cousin.

"He's a sweetheart, really," Merlin interrupted.

"Merlin, you are not allowed to get all mushy over Gwaine during dinner," Arthur told him, in a serious tone.

"Sorry. Carry on."

"Lance," Arthur continued and Elena's inside did a flip flop. She reached for her own glass of wine. "Editor of _CityView_…"

This information surprised her. _CityView_ was a fairly new magazine, one that was not nearly a decade old but with a readership consisting mostly of the younger sets of yuppies in the City. It focuses on lifestyle, culture and travel. And eclectic magazine, but one that was making its name slowly but surely. Elena has seen a few copies of the magazines that was in Doctor Watson's flat but had not read any of it, feeling that everything she sees in it would be too far for her to reach anyway. She felt a pang of regret and decided to read the magazines as soon as she got home. "Really?"

Arthur's eyebrow rose ever so slightly. "Well, I suppose he will tell you soon enough," he said, with a smile. And then leaning forward, he added. "He never tells us anything as well, so don't worry about it." Elena smiled and drank her wine. The next bit of information about Lance was even more surprising than knowing what he did for a living. "Lance was married to my sister, Morgana."

Elena swallowed her food, no longer savouring its taste. They were talking of Lance and Elena was not sure if she wanted to listen to it. The curiosity to know more about him was as overwhelming as the need to give Lance his privacy. It was a general information, probably one everyone in the room knew of, but she could not help feeling that Lance should be the one telling her all this, if there was anything she needed know about him, that is.

Neither Arthur nor Merlin seemed to have noticed Elena's discomfort. "Morgana would have loved this party," Arthur said, with a touch of wistfulness and fondness. "She would have screamed in horror when she saw Merlin wearing trainers with his tuxedo…"

"I'm an artist," Merlin remarked.

"But not a fool," Arthur said, sounding exasperated. "Seriously, Merlin. That's…"

Elena felt as if she needed to defuse the argument, no matter how good hearted it was. "I like it," she said. "Trainers with tuxedo. It's unique. And I bet you are the only one in the room, Merlin, not complaining of sore feet. And, " she leaned towards Merlin. "You must be a fan of the Doctor."

Merlin looked as if he was going to shout out with laughter. Fortunately, he grinned and looking over her at Arthur, said, "I like her. Can we keep her?"

"Merlin!" Arthur looked positively scandalized.

"No, it's fine," Elena said, laughing. She could not help to see how funny all this were. "It really is."

"I am sorry…" Merlin looked worried as he apologized.

"Merlin, please," Elena said, putting a hand on his forearm (surprising herself with how firm it felt. She was not expecting that). "We are friends, are we not?"

Merlin's grinned widened. "Yes. Yes we are."

"I am glad we are." Elena smiles and did not have to say anything else as the brochettes were cleared and replaced with an authentic English roast beef and Yorkshire pudding. Merlin, Elena noticed, had a different dish from hers. He explained that it was the vegetarian dish for him and a few other guests; chargrilled peppers with wild rice, wild mushroom and onions. He offered her a taste of the wild rice and would not let Elena decline.

"We're friends, remember?" Merlin said, smiling. "And friends share food." Elena smiled and took half a spoonful of rice from his plate.

She had barely chewed twice when the owner of the house poked his head in the space between Elena's and Merlin's seat. "Hello. Gwaine du Bois. Host and very bad at it as well," he said, looking rather regretful. "Not engaging in a conversation with a beautiful woman like you…"

"You were a bit busy," Elena said, willing her heart to stop beating so erratically. He maybe gorgeous and all (all of them were), but it would not do to die of heart failure in his lovely home.

"I like her," Gwaine said, glancing at Arthur. "Can we keep her?"

"Gwaine!" Arthur was incredulous.

"Sorry…" Gwaine said, looking remorseful.

"No, don't apologize. Elena doesn't mind," Merlin was quick to divulge this information.

"Elena?" Gwaine said, perking up, looking from Merlin to her.

"Elena Godfrey." Now brave enough to offer a handshake, she extended a hand to Gwaine, who took it and kissed the back of it.

"A lovely name. And you must dance with me this evening, Elena. So much to catch up to," Gwaine said, standing up.

"There's dancing?" Arthur asked, sceptical and not looking all together very happy with the mention of it.

Gwaine scoffed. "Arthur, please. People are sufficiently intoxicated. Of course there will be dancing."

"Arthur is great a conga line leader," Merlin pointed out.

"I am not that drunk," Arthur said, his voice spelling danger to Merlin for revealing such an information to Elena.

"Yet," Gwaine amended. "Not that drunk yet." He glanced at the main table and suppressed a sigh. "I better go back to my seat. I just came here to say hello to this lovely woman." He straightened up and looked at Arthur. "And also to tell you that it is really unnerving seeing your father smile like that. Even worse up close."

"Shut up." Arthur rolled his eyes.

"Classic," Gwaine deadpanned, looking at Arthur. Turning to Merlin, he said, "Well, later, love. And you too, Elena. It was lovely to meet you. We look forward to getting to know you."

Elena had the distinct impression that Lance's friends were blowing things out of proportion. That there was nothing at all special about her, save for the fact that she come to a party with their friend. They would, naturally, be aware of the fact that Lance is grieving. It feels to her as if them being glad with her presence was an indicator at how happy they are that Lance was moving on. Outwardly, Elena thought, that was how it might seem, but truth is, she did not know Lance enough to speculate.

It was intoxicating, this feeling of being accepted into an exclusive group. From the looks of it, they were absolutely devoted to each other. The gift of friendship that is being extended is one that is genuine, both individually and collectively. She would have loved to be a part of this little group. But…

Merlin inquired about Elena and her conga skills, disrupting her train of thoughts. Elena thought for a moment before giving them a breakdown of the dancing skills she learnt while in foster care with the Simms'. If Arthur and Merlin were taken aback when they heard 'foster care', they did not show it and soon it became quite the lively discussion, with much suppressed laughing and mild teasing. When Elena looked up at Lance, she saw him looking at her, a wearing a wistful expression on his face. He smiled at her, nodding once.

Elena smiled back. For the first time in many years since leaving the Simms', she did not feel as if she was outside looking in. She felt as if she belonged.

And no matter how fleeting this moment was going to be, Elena knew she would treasure it for the rest of her life.

=X=

**_P/S: I apologize with the confusion with the link. I suddenly forgot how to add a new chapter to the ongoing fic. _**


	40. Chapter 40

**A chapter of Lance. Italics denote events that transpired in the past. **

**Merlin belongs to all of us…I would not say no to the King Arthur Pendragon if anyone is offering. **

**Reviews and feedbacks brighten my day. **

* * *

><p>Lance kissed Mrs Spencer good night and promised that he would visit her soon. Four women from Pendragon Industries and Gwaine's law office, giggling and just slightly off – balance, queued up at the door for the similar kiss-and-promise-to-visit goodbye treatment. Lance smiled and shook their hands politely and wished them a good night and went away from the front door, ignoring their disappointed pouts, leaving Baxter to handle the crowd of people who were leaving. The senior members of the party had started leaving after coffee was served. Uther too had left, citing tiredness from his journey. Arthur promised to visit his father in the morning. And then some of their friends started leaving; ruing the fact that they had to work the next day.<p>

Lance turned from the doorway and saw Merlin in the hallway, helping Morgause with her coat. Nina was all bundled up to leave and was skipping from one tile to another while her mother finished saying her goodbye. Guinevere had given Lance a summary of what happened in the weekend when he returned from New York. And Lance knew that Morgause had helped in making the party a success. He went towards them.

"We have you to thank for this party," Lance said, looking at Morgause.

Morgause turned to Lance, clicking her tongue, making a dismissive gesture with her hand. His wife's sister. "It was nothing. It was really rather enjoyable."

"Well, thank you very much," Lance said and leaned forward to kiss her cheek.

"Not a problem at all," Morgause replied. "I am thinking of switching from banking to party planning."

"You know who to call when you need an assistant," Merlin remarked, grinning.

"And what? Suffer through Gwaine's jealousy?" Morgause said, the twinkle in her eyes indicating that she was teasing.

Merlin actually blushed. "Yeah…I…Sorry. I…"

Morgause laughed. She kissed Merlin's cheek and gave him a hug. "Good luck, the both of you," she said and turned to Nina, offering her hand. The little girl got a hug and kiss from both Merlin and Lance. Lance offered to walk Morgause to her house.

They stepped out into the cool evening and Lance wished he could just run back into the house for his coat, but then decided he could last five minutes or so without it.

"You heard what happened between Merlin and Gwaine?" Lance asked. He did not want to broach the subject, but he felt if there was anything he could do to…to apologize on Gwaine or Merlin's behalf. This was the first time Morgause had taken to socializing with them and Lance did not want to lose that friendship.

"Yes, I did," Morgause replied. She was smiling, which indicated she still had her good humour intact and did not think this was a breach of privacy or anything. "I literally heard it. The brick crashing through the window."

"Merlin can be…"

Morgause interrupted was Lance wanted to say. "I know. He is sweet. And he just needed to find an outlet to cope with the loss of Morgana. I guess we all needed that."

Morgause's words scratched at the surface of a compartment in his conscious mind where he had, for the evening, pushed all thoughts of Morgana into. Not an easy thing to do, but he did it anyway; which, now that he thought about it, seemed like a joke of the highest order…pushing the thought of his wife aside. The scratch was bleeding memories into his being again.

Coping with the loss of Morgana…

Merlin coped by making friends with Morgause.

Gwaine by admitting his feelings for Merlin.

Arthur and Guinevere found each other.

Lance…

Lance found himself…drifting.

So many things happening to the people around him.

What about him?

What is happening with him?

Lance thought he had dealt with this…

That he had moved on…

It seems laughable now.

He never did.

He did not mind. He loved his wife so much that not moving on does not seem wrong to him at all.

They were in front of Morgause's little gate. She was looking at Lance, who was lost in his thoughts.

"Are you alright?" she asked, looking concerned. She opened the gate and Nina bounded up to the front door.

Lance snapped out of his reverie. He was not alright at all. But he could always pretend he was.

"I am fine," he said, switching on that automatic smile. "Good night, Morgause."

"Good night, Lance," Morgause said. She reached out, squeezed his arm, made him promise that he will visit her soon and turned to her house. Lance waited until she and Nina were inside before walking back to Gwaine's, quickening his step to escape from the cold.

As well as the memory…if he could physically outrun them.

Baxter let him into the house, standing guard for another batch of guests who were leaving. Lance kept his goodbyes cordial but short and went into the sitting room. He saw a fairly large sized group still in the room; some talking, many of them drinking. These were the group of people who were in denial that tomorrow is a working day. Amongst them was Leon Osmond, newly appointed CEO of Pendragon Industries, and he was showing off what could called dance moves to a bunch of colleagues and friends. Lance smiled, shaking his head and went to get a drink, hoping it would help to alleviate the restlessness he felt. He had drunk sparingly during the party and Gwaine had told him he would consider it a personal insult if Lance was not drunk by the end of the night.

Lance picked up a Scotch from the bar, thanking the waiter who was pouring out the drinks. He took a swallow of his drink and turned around, looking for Elena. His heart constricted when he saw her with Guinevere. They were seated on a sofa and talking animatedly. From the snippets of conversations drifting towards him, Lance knew they were talking about shoes. That was a conversation he could not join.

Nor could he join the conversation for the awkwardness that would ensue. Elena was having a good time, no thanks to him, he thought to himself. The thought that he had been quite the jerk prompted him to ask for another drink. If he were to go and interrupt the conversation…well, the disruption would be unpleasant. He would make up to Elena properly soon. As for his friends, he would explain to them as well. Soon.

Just not that evening.

Lance picked up his drink and went towards Merlin, Gwaine and Arthur, who were seated on the foot of the grand staircase, their bow ties undone. Gwaine's jacket was hanging on the balustrade. Merlin and Gwaine were firing off names from the _Game of Thrones_ series, as well as their beloved _Lord of the Rings _trilogy, hoping to get Arthur to agree on a name. Arthur was looking very, very thoughtful, which did not bode well for his child and Lance hoped that Guinevere would have the final deciding vote as to naming their child.

Lance found himself drifting towards the hallway between the sitting room and the dining room, drawn there for no apparent reason. None of his friends noticed, which was good, but he had no way to explain what he was doing. It felt as if he was searching for something…what it was, he was not sure.

His gaze flicked over the many framed photographs, memories flooding back into his consciousness. Or more like still images in his mind being given a breath of life. It was unbelievable; the things they have managed to do in two decades of friendship.

His eyes locked on to a black and white photograph. It was requested in black and white by Morgana who felt the moment deserved its poignancy. That was what she said to the photographer anyway. She thought she and Lance looked more gorgeous in monochrome. It was taken at their wedding, during their first dance. They were dancing to _Gravity_ by Coldplay.

A lifetime ago…

"_Honestly those two. If I hadn't known better, I'd think they are stealing out thunder," Morgana said, as she took Lance's hand and allowed him to pull her towards him. Another hand was on the small of her back, not exactly conducive for dancing, but Lance needed the intimacy of that touch. _

_Lance's gaze followed Morgana's. Arthur and Guinevere were tentatively trying to dance a slow dance. What seemed like an awkward moment between them was actually closer to foreplay than anything else. "Eight years," he remarked. "I must say I do not know if I should be impressed or sad. To be so mad about each other and yet not do anything about it."_

"_They can't be all be like us, darling," Morgana said, kissing Lance's nose, causing him to turn to her. When Lance looked at her, Morgana had the look of someone who has been particularly inspired. "I know, let's do something…"_

"_No." Lance knew exactly to whom the 'something' was intended. _

_Morgana actually looked surprised. Trust her not to feel any compunction at meddling in her brother's love life. "What? Why not? He loves her. She loves him." _

"_They have to realize it themselves, darling," Lance said, gently. This was not the first time they were having this conversation. And unless Arthur, that fool, does something about it, Lance was sure it would not be the last. "We can't interfere."_

_Morgana appeared not to have heard him, as she turned to look at them again. "Maybe after our honeymoon…" she mused almost to herself. _

"_I don't think so."_

_Morgana turned to Lance, beaming. "Yes. You are right, love." And Lance frowned, wondered if he heard her correctly. "That is too late. It has to be tonight. We'll lock them in a room or something."_

_But of course. They were still on the topic of his brother-in-law and getting him and Guinevere together. "And how would that be helpful, my love?" Lance asked, indulging her, for the moment. _

"_They can talk it out, or snog it out," Morgana said, her smile triumphant. "Either way, it will alleviate the sexual tension crackling between them." _

_Lance contemplated for a moment, thinking of a way to make his disagreement to the idea seem less…disagreeable. Lance was no fool; he was about to go on his honeymoon and knows that any disagreement with Morgana now might not bode well for the actual purpose of the honeymoon; which would be sex and lots of it. "I think we wouldn't be able to go far with that idea, love," Lance said. "Arthur's girlfriend looks as if she could murder Guinevere." _

_Morgana scoffed. "She could try." Morgana spoke with the confidence of a woman who knew she could take on the heavily made-up Amazon, with or without her stilettos. "She couldn't even murder a sandwich. I'm telling you, darling, there is no way she got that figure from a gym. She looks deprived and has that pinched look a cream tea couldn't fix."_

_Lance frowned, turning his gaze from the blond to his wife. "I can't believe we are talking about Arthur's girlfriend's figure." _

_Morgana's smile turned devious. In a very sexy way. She lowered her eyelids, biting her lower lips. "Would you rather talk about mine?"_

_Lance grinned. "I do have an appreciation for your…for your…"_

"_Boobs?"_

_And Lance knew that he ought to interrupt at that point before the list starts getting less PG-rated. "Darling!" _

_Morgana dropped her voice. "You're my husband, they half belong to you." She drew closer to him, desire evident in her eye. _

_Lance took a deep breath. "Darling, this is not making it any less easier, you know. I still have to sit through a couple of speeches."_

_Morgana's reply was to start nibbling the edge of his jaw line. "I know," she said, her breath warm against his neck and causing effect in places in his body far from his neck. " I haven't seen you naked in two weeks."_

_Lance leaned forward and whispered, "I shall have you know that I have not packed any clothes for our honeymoon."_

_Morgana drew back, looking as if she had stumbled upon her favourite present under the Christmas tree. "Mr du Lac, you are making me blush."_

"_Mrs du Lac, I can make your more than blush." _

_There was a sharp intake of breath from Morgana. "That's it, Lance. We are ditching the speeches. We can always watch a video of it later."_

_Lance laughed, stealing a quick kiss from Morgana. "No, my darling. Our absence would be most conspicuous."_

"_Not fair." Morgana pouted. _

_Lance laughed, dipped Morgana and kissed her. The crowd cheered. They straightened up and gave the crowd a bow, before resuming their dance. The song and replaced with 'Chasing Cars' by Snow Patrol; not exactly a dancing song, but it was Morgana's choice so no one argued with her. _

"_Enjoying yourself?" Lance asked, as Morgana dropped all notions of dancing and just stuck to holding her husband close and swaying to music. _

"_Every bit," she replied, looking up at him. "You?"_

_Lance pushed back a stray lock of hair from her face and tucked it behind her ear. "I am wishing this day would never end. And I am also wishing it would end a little faster."_

_Morgana almost hummed. "I'm happy."_

"_I love you." Lance felt as if too much time had lapsed between telling her this. The last time he told her was when they were exchanging their vows. _

"_I want to tell you something."_

"_Go on."_

"_I thought of putting it in my vows. But then, I did not want to be too over the top and all that." _

_Lance nodded. "I understand," he said. What he really understood was the fact that Morgana was going to tell him something that is rather monumental, thus her approach by explaining the small things first. " Your choice of music and my jacket is enough drama for one day, I think." _

_Morgana grinned. "Love the jacket, babes." _

"_Thank you. And I never figured you for a Motown girl." _

"_You have a certain effect on me." _

"_So do you."_

_And Lance must have given her his 'killing-me-softly' smile, or so Morgana had christened his lopsided smile. "Anyway, as I was saying…" she was still distracted by his smile. Lance liked that. A lot. _

"_Yes?" He decided to help her out. She wanted to say something to him and he felt bad for distracting her. _

"_Thank you." _

"_What? What for?" Lance was genuinely surprised. _

_Morgana looked at Lance. "I mean, I never had a family of my own. I had Mama for a short while…" She drifted off in thought and Lance touched the side of her face. She smiled at him, acknowledging his attempt to steer her away from less than happy emotions. " And then Arthur and Uther…how is that for a comedic duo?"_

_Lance frowned. I cannot associate Uther with comedy," he said, looking very serious. And then, he chuckled. "Though it was rather entertaining watching him walk down the aisle with you with Motown playing in the background." _

_Morgana laughed. "I am glad for Arthur and Uther. But I have always felt they are not mine. And I know Gwaine, Merlin and Guinevere would be far from pleased if they hear this…but yes, I mean, one day, they would each pair up…"_

_Lance nodded in agreement. "That's a foregone conclusion." _

" _Maybe we ought to lock them…" Morgana mused again and before that line of thought could take hold, Lance interrupted. _

"_You were saying, darling?"_

"_Well, I would always have them. But I have always wanted something of my own." She was looking at him, the desperation of what she wants to say being conveyed in her eyes. " And you have given me that. You have given me something solid. You've given me the basis of our future…our family." _

_Lance smiled. He kissed her forehead. "I never want to hear you thanking me again. You are not the only one who gained much from this, Morgana." _

_Morgana looked at Lance for what seemed like a long, long time. It was as if she was reaching right into his soul. And Lance knew he would never tire of her touch, of her gaze, of her love. He bent forward and kissed her. _

"_You're so beautiful," Morgana said, cupping his face with both her hands. _

_Lance decided that they have had enough of seriousness. "Yes, I am aware of that," he remarked, grinning. _

_Morgana gave a shout of laughter. She was far from displeased. "Wrong answer. Try again, Lance Etienne Hugo du Lac…"_

Lance had kissed Morgana then, which was when the photograph was taken. There was a copy of the photograph in his flat, in the bedroom. He loved the photograph, loved how much in love he and Morgana were. There was not even a hint of the tragedy that would follow soon after.

Lance took a long swallow of his drink. He pushed away all dark thoughts and concentrated on other photographs, picking out his favourites.

Morgana and Gwaine holding up a sunken soufflé, their hair covered in flour; the kitchen in the background a chaos the equivalent of the aftermath of an explosion.

Morgana and Arthur hugging on Arthur's graduation day from uni, little sister wearing her brother's graduation caps and robes and poking her tongue out to the camera.

Morgana and Merlin jumping in puddles, Guinevere looking on warily and Arthur ruing his shoes.

Morgana and Guinevere bundled in thick coats, waving to the camera as they trudged their way up a glacier in Iceland.

Morgana and Lance sitting at a fountain in Rome, laughing.

Lance looked at the photograph. He could not believe how carefree he looked. He looked like a man completely unfettered by any troubles. He looked as if he could take on the world. For the woman who was beside him.

Catching his reflection on the glass of the frame, he saw a man who has the exact same capabilities of taking on the world. Not for love, but out of anger. The anger that he has been short changed in his life.

Why couldn't he be as happy as he had been in the past? What wrong has he done that he has been dealt with this grief? And why punish him by taking away Morgana? Why not take him away, if he had done something to deserve all this darkness in his life.

_They danced in the ward. _

_Her breath was warm against his chest, but the rest of her were cold. She was holding on to him tighter than he could ever remember her holding him. _

_He was crying, against her wishes. _

_She had refused her medication that morning. She had a terrible night and Lance could only watch as the nurses and the doctors worked on making her comfortable. She threw up twice, nothing but liquid coming out of her. And after that, dry heaves that seemed to suck the life out of her. Three convulsions. After her second one, her heart stopped for ten seconds. Lance had to be held back by two nurses. He only calmed down when she took a breath again. _

_After the third convulsion, the doctor took him aside and told him to be brave. Lance wanted to punch him in the face. _

_How dare he say things like that? _

_It was his job to save Morgana. _

_The doctor had to save Morgana. _

_Someone should save her. _

_He had failed. He had failed to save his wife. He had failed the woman he loved. _

_Lance did not say anything to the doctor, who patted his arm and then left him in the hallway outside her ward. It was a quarter past four in the morning. _

_Lance turned and went into the lounge next to the ward. Gwaine was sprawled on one uncomfortable armchair, a camel Burberry coat covering his face from the harsh fluorescent light as he slept. Merlin was asleep on the sofa, his head on Guinevere's lap and his feet hanging off the other end. Guinevere too was asleep, her head at an angle that will surely be painful and uncomfortable in the morning. Only Arthur was awake, standing at the glass wall, looking out into the dark courtyard. It was pelting with rain outside. _

_Arthur turned to look at Lance. He was crying. He already knew what the doctor told Lance. Arthur told Lance to go to Morgana; he would wake the rest of them soon enough and tell them. _

_Lance walked back to the ward, the short distance that seemed to stretch as memories of Morgana came rushing back to him. _

_The girl sitting with him at the staircase in Hunith's cottage._

_The teenage girl who walked up to him in the football field and asked him out on a date, in front of his coach and teammates, elevating his status to almost god-like in the school. _

_The young woman who cried when she said yes to his marriage proposal. _

_The woman who was everything to him. _

_The woman who was his past, his present and his future…_

_Her voice was weak when she called out to him. He approached her bed, holding back his tears, suppressing memories. She was smiling weakly, holding out her hands for him. _

_Lance took her hand and she gestured him to help her sit up. _

_She touched his face and pulled him closer to her. And that was when she asked if he would dance with her. _

_They danced to Gravity again, but there was no music to be heard in the room. The only sound was the rhythm of the heart monitor, whose numbers were more dismaying by the hour. _

_She could not move her feet, but she still had strength in her legs. Lance carried her on his feet, holding her tight against him, swaying to a music he could hear in his mind. _

_The music ended a long time ago. But Lance kept swaying, one last prayer to God, begging him to spare her. Give him this one chance…_

_She sighed and Lance picked her up, as he had done countless times. Instead of nuzzling his neck or nibbling at his earlobes, this time she just tucked her head into the crook of his neck, her arms around barely strong enough to link them around his neck. He put her on the bed and, at her request, got in beside her. He toed off his shoes and threw the quilt around them, in futile effort to warm her. _

"…_love you…" It was as energy sapping to hear as it must have been for her to articulate these words. _

"_I love you too."_

_She did not speak much after that. She snuggled close to Lance, her body going colder by the minute. She laid her head on his chest and took his hand into hers. Her grip was surprisingly strong. _

_An eternity must have passed, or perhaps just minutes. It seemed like too much effort to worry about time…to put a time frame on the time he is spending with his wife. _

"_Be brave, darling…" _

"_I will…" _

"_Let me go…"_

"_Never."_

_Morgana suppressed a sob that wracked her entire body. And then said the word that made his world collapse around him. "Please."_

"_I can't." _

_Morgana kissed his hand, her lips cold. "I will not leave you…"_

_In the end, she did leave him. At half past five in the morning. _

_She took a deep breath, her hand still gripping his tightly…_

_And then the machines went silent. _

_It was only when the doctor came in did Lance realize what had happened. _

_It took the combined efforts of Arthur, Merlin, Gwaine and Guinevere to calm Lance enough so that he would allow the doctors and nurses to do what they have to do. _

_Morgana broke his heart. And broke her promise. She left him._

The sound of laughter broke his rumination. His eyes were now looking at the photograph from Rome. But in his mind, he could still see the doctor telling Arthur that Morgana was…Morgana was…

_Dead_.

The crash of the Scotch glass hitting the floor caused everyone in the room to turn towards Lance; Gwaine, Merlin and Arthur scrambling to their feet. Lance did not see of them. He left the room and the house.

He wanted to be alone. He just wanted his memories. And it did not matter how much it hurt. Because nothing trumps loneliness.

=X=


	41. Chapter 41

**The note is at the end of this chapter. **

* * *

><p>Arthur saw Lance's Rover peel out from the parking spot on the street. He called out for him, but Lance did not hear him. Or pretended not to hear him. Arthur just stood there, momentarily dazed, not knowing what to do when Gwaine's Mini pulled up on the road beside Arthur. It was Gwaine and Merlin. And because there is a God, and a smidgeon of common sense between them, Baxter was driving. Arthur got into the passenger seat. Gwaine was in the front seat, looking as though he was thinking he would be doing a better job driving on their pursuit of Lance. Which would have involved the breaking of countless traffic rules and the creation of multilingual expletives. He was a demon on the road, and with the kind of emergency they had in their hand, Arthur could not imagine the havoc Gwaine would have wrought on the streets of London.<p>

"Is Elena alright?" Arthur asked.

"Guinevere is right behind us with Elena," Merlin told him, looking rather expressionless. Arthur supposed all their expressions were identical. They were worried about Lance and probably blaming themselves, as he was, at not seeing whatever was it was that was bothering Lance. Not seeing the signs…not that Lance would have shown any. Still, giving a best friend who had a breakdown in the middle of a party shows that things are not quite as rosy as they had pictured it to be.

"We told her it had nothing to do with her," Gwaine said, for the sake of not having to deal with uncomfortable silence.  
>"She was a bit upset," Merlin said. "But she's been a real sport about it. We told her Guinevere would take her home, in case…in case we have to look for Lance elsewhere."<p>

"Looks like he's going home," Arthur said, looking out of the window, noting the familiar street they were turning into.

"That's good," Gwaine remarked. "Isn't it?" The last addition to the remark was almost an afterthought, as if he was thinking his worries aloud.

"Spare keys?" Arthur asked, hoping one of them remembered. They each had keys to all their homes.

"I have them," Merlin said, patting the pocket of his tuxedo. Arthur noticed then that, like him, neither Merlin nor Gwaine, or Baxter for that matter, were wearing any coats.

Lance's Rover went into the building underground parking lot. Baxter brought the Mini to a halt outside the building and before the car come to a stop, the three guys opened the door and leaped out. Arthur supposed it was rather lucky none of them slipped and fell on the ice. They ran into the building, Merlin calling out the appropriate greeting to the doorman as they rushed towards the lift.  
>The ride to the sixth floor where Lance's flat was seemed to take forever. Gwaine was swearing under his breath and Merlin was chewing his lower lips. Arthur was the picture of calm, though he anything was.<p>

Lance was the steadiest, strongest of them all. For him to suddenly experience...a moment of weakness...was there something they overlooked?

Or did they just saw the signs and were denial about it?

Just thinking something like this caused Arthur to feel as if he let Lance down...he had let his friends down.

Too wrapped up in his own life...

The lift finally reached the sixth floor and pinged open. Arthur was thankful the lift door was big enough to fit the three of them stepping out at the same time.

They saw Lance outside his flat, searching his pockets for his keys.

Gwaine and Merlin looked at Arthur, their silent vote electing him as their voice.

"Mate?" Arthur called out as they approached him. Lance stopped looking for his keys and looked up. His eyes were red and there was no mask hiding the truth this time.

Lance was grieving.

"Keys. I don't..." He began, but gave up when he realized speech was bringing forth tears as well.

"Here," Merlin said, stepping up with a bunch of keys. From the hoarse sound of his voice, Arthur knew Merlin was close to crying himself. Gwaine too, if the silence was anything to go by.

Lance stepped aside to let Merlin open the door. Gwaine went beside Lance and took the risk of putting his arm around his shoulder. Lance managed a wan smile and sighed. "I'm alright," he told them.

"We need tea," Gwaine said.

"You are an idiot," Arthur said, as Merlin finally got the door open. He went in first, followed by Lance and then Gwaine. Arthur entered the flat last and closed the door behind him. In a training ingrained by Morgana, he took off his shoes in the hallway before entering the living room.

"What? Tea helps," Gwaine argued, standing at the doorway to the kitchen.

"A shot or nine would too," Merlin replied, shrugging.

"Shut up," Arthur said. He knows what the guys are trying to do, and though he appreciates their effort and loves them for it, he could help but to think that Lance should be the one initiating any sort of conversations.

They instinctively turn to Lance, who was seated on the sofa, looking at the blank television. He looked as if he was pulling together whatever semblance of control he had. And for the first time, he looked as if he was not trying too hard. For the first time, he is allowing them to see just vulnerable he was. Lance was no longer pretending he was in control. He was showing them he was struggling to be in control. He did look a lot better than he was standing outside the door by himself.

"Tea?" Lance said, keeping his voice steady and risking a glance at his friends. "What are we? Little girls with dolls?"

They guys broke into laughter. Gwaine and Merlin went into the kitchen to get the drinks, while Arthur took a seat beside Lance.

"Elena…?" Lance began.

"Guinevere is driving her home, in a more safe and sedate manner," Arthur replied. "We came with Baxter, who probably ran over three red lights."

"Sorry."

"Nah. I think Baxter rather enjoyed the experience," Arthur said.

Lance managed a chuckle, a sound of mirth that sounded foreign coming from him. And then, both Arthur and Lance said, "I'm sorry" at the same time.

"What?" Lance asked, looking surprised. His concern for Arthur was now taking over from his own frailties.

"Well, we…we didn't…" Arthur began, but Lance understood what he was trying to say.

"Arthur, please," Lance said, falling naturally into his role of protecting his friends. "The only way you could have known I was not doing so well would be if all of you had been watching me in a highly creepy sort of way. I love you guys and all, but I don't think I would get used to that sort of scrutiny."

Arthur chuckled. "And you don't have to apologize for what happened at Gwaine's house," Arthur told him. Gwaine and Merlin emerged from the kitchen just then; Gwaine with an armful of bottles that would fulfil half the alphabetical order of commercially available alcohols and Merlin with assorted glasses that did not look suitable for drinking any of the alcohol. "Can't have the sultans of ridiculousness taking centre stage all the time."

"Of course, the Pendragon family drama could not have unfolded at a better time or place," Merlin replied with a scoff and a roll of his eyes, setting the glasses on the coffee table in front of the sofa.

Before Arthur could say anything, they heard the front door opening and Guinevere walked into the flat, suitably clad in a warm jacket, scarf and gloves. "Hello," she called out, as Arthur went to help with her jacket. Then she noticed the glasses and the bottles on the coffee table and looked at them one by one. "You guys are drinking?" She sounded as if she was annoyed, but she was looking at them in a rather indulgent manner. If she sensed anything off, she did not say it.

"I did suggest tea, Guinevere," Gwaine said, raising his hand as if he was answering a question from his class teacher. "But they said it was too girly."

Good natured bickering broke out just then which took them all to the kitchen, where Guinevere made herself a pot of tea and back to the living room again. She was not even remotely annoyed, but they needed that sort normalcy now more than ever. Lance was mostly silent, but he did manage to sneak in a comment or two in support of alcohol.

They settled into the living room, where another round of argument broke out, and this time for the television program they should watch. Lance and Arthur wanted the news, Guinevere wanted a rerun of _Downton Abbey_, Merlin wanted anime while Gwaine wanted sports. Guinevere won the rock-paper-scissors contest with Gwaine and they relinquished the TV remote to Guinevere. Of course, they had to give their own commentaries regarding the show and that kept the silence at bay. They sat on the three –seater sofa; Lance between Gwaine and Arthur, and Merlin on the floor next to Gwaine. Guinevere was on armchair next to the sofa, with Arthur holding her hand, keeping her close to him.

They settled into comfortable silence, still clad in their tuxedos and evening gown. Their glasses were half full of Gwaine's '_special mix'_, which would only mean the mother of all hangovers tomorrow. For now though, there was pleasant companionship. Arthur knew there were still issues to deal with, but there is always tomorrow. It is not running away from their problems…more like putting it on the back burner for a while, to allow it to cool. It also meant not treading where Lance did not want them to go. They could push for it, but they would not go anywhere if they did. The best they can do is to be there for Lance when he needed them. The grief was theirs collectively, but Morgana had been his wife, so to say that they understand what he is going through would not just be insensitive, but an understatement as well.

Of course, Arthur had to know how Lance was doing at the moment. "You alright, mate?"

The rest of them pretended not to hear him. Or eavesdrop on what Lance was going to say.

Lance looked at Arthur. "I will be." He smiles, holding out his glass for Arthur to clink on. His answer made the rest of them look at him and smile. "With a little help from my friends."

=X=

_**Yes, I have decided that Lance will cope with his grief in his own personal way because…well, I don't want to take him through another cycle of hurt and healing. **_

_**Epilogue is coming up in a day or two. I want to conclude this fic with the end of the series as well. **_

_**Have I ever told all of you how much I love you all? Well, I do. Very much. Merlin is a doorway that opened up to so many possibilities and along the way blessed me with good friends. This small trifle of a story gave me so much joy and I hope I managed to give all of you some measure of happiness with it as well. Drop me a review telling me about it? **_

**_Merlin belongs to all of us. I would not say no to King Arthur Pendragon._ **


	42. Epilogue

Tim Wisely, formerly a bartender, now proud owner of a cafe, was walking around the dining area of his cafe, adjusting this and that and just revelling in the thought of being an owner of an eatery that was slowly gaining its own group of loyal patrons. He opened the cafe last autumn and word of mouth has done wonders for it. He was the head waiter, while his ex- girlfriend and his mother (a bad combination on paper, but they really were an excellent team, after his mother got over the fact that Tim and his ex were firmly over each other) were his chefs. He employed two waitresses and that seemed to suit the little cafe just fine. There were sixteen tables inside the former bakery and another four outside. The cafe served simple food, but he has been told countless times that the food was delicious and reminds the diners of home comforts. Tim was glad he was able to bring a bit of happiness, in the way of a sandwich or a pot of tea, to the people who came to his cafe.

He had just opened for lunch and knew that the day would be just a little slow, seeing that it was a Bank Holiday. Nevertheless, the first diners of the day arrived soon enough. They took a seat one of the tables outside. Tim picked up some menus and went out of the cafe to greet them and had a pleasant surprise when he saw who they were.

It was the guys from bar, two and a half, maybe three years ago. The blond who looked as if he belonged to royalty, the pale bloke and the bloke with the stylishly messed hair. The other bloke, the one who looked like a Roman god, was not with them, but they had new additions to the group. A woman with curly hair and a heart - stopping smile. And a little boy, who could no older than twelve months old, with the woman's dark curls and Blond Bloke's blue eyes and smile.

Tim could not help the smile that came naturally to him as he approached them. He doubted if the guys would remember him. It did not matter. He was happy to see them again, to see their friendship intact and to see them thriving.

He greeted them with a good morning and handed them the menus. They looked as if as they had just come from playing football; the blokes, including the little chap, were in Man United kits, save for Pale Bloke who wore a t-shirt depicting Daleks surrounding the TARDIS. The woman wore a light summer dress in lilac, making her look more like an earth mother. She had the glow of a woman in complete satisfaction of her life…and Tim could not help his smile getting wider when he noticed her baby bump. She kept rubbing her tummy and Blond Bloke put a hand above hers (his wife, Tim surmised, from the wedding rings they each wore), smiling at her.

They greeted Tim politely enough and asked for a few moments to choose their food. Tim nodded and drifted to the next table, to rearrange the flower and the salt and pepper shakers that had already been arranged. He just could not help it.

They were waiting for someone...quite possibly Roman god Bloke. Blond Bloke and the woman were studying the menu…well, at least she was trying to, whilst Blond Bloke was stealing kisses from her. Their son, to whom they referred to as Tristan, was with the other two blokes, engaged in a boisterous game of tickling the Pale Bloke.

"...he may not like it..." Blond Bloke was saying and really, Tim was not eavesdropping. He was the arranging flowers on the other table.

"...not easy getting Elena to agree..." Pale Bloke said, standing up and stepping away from the table in order to escape his tormentors.

"...three weeks to track her down..." Pale Bloke continued.

"...almost stalked her for two weeks..." Hair Bloke remarked. "We could have gotten arrested."

"...let's hope they would see that we mean the best for them..." the woman said.

"...he's going to kill us..." Blond Bloke said, sounding quite worried.

"...I'm willing to risk it. He needs this..." Hair Bloke argued.

"...we think he needs this..." Blond Bloke pointed out. "I think he needs it too, but..."

"...I am just worried about Elena might think if Lance doesn't..." the woman was saying but then was interrupted.

"Oh God. He's here!" Pale Bloke said, scrambling to his seat.

This time, Tim's curiosity got the better of him. He was no longer merely just eavesdropping, he outright watching them. Hair Bloke gave Tristan back to his mum and took out his mobile phone and started texting urgently. The rest of them struggled and failed at appearing as if they had something to hide.

Soon enough, Roman god Bloke joined them, heart-stopping (Tim had three older sisters and another younger one and knew what constituted a gorgeous man, and the suitable adjectives to describe them, from his years of listening to them) in his England rugby shirt and khaki shorts. He was looking at the crowd gathered at the table, smiling at the them. His friends, however, where looking elsewhere. They were looking to the opposite direction of where Roman god Bloke had come from. Apprehensive would be the word to describe them, with their disposition and smiles. They appeared to be looking at a woman who was approaching them, looking more nervous than they were. She was a petite blond and the mauve scrubs she wore did nothing to diminish her wholesome prettiness.

"...tell me you guys didn't do this," Roman god Bloke said.

"We didn't," Pale Bloke and Hair Bloke said in unison. "She must have been come out for lunch."

"What a wonderful coincidence, yeah?" Blond Bloke said, his smile more of a grimace.

Roman god Bloke looked as if he was contemplating something. Then, he stepped away from the table and was in time to meet the blond woman under the awning of Tim's cafe. Roman god Bloke greeted the blond woman and kissed her cheek. They spoke for a bit and then he led her towards the cafe.

His friends looked positively ecstatic. Their faces fell a bit when they realized that Roman god Bloke was leading the woman to a table _inside_ the cafe. They laughed, but it tittered off when Roman god Bloke turned and gave them a look that could have be a glare, or him rolling his eyes at them. The blond woman looked apologetic, but the group could not be silenced for long.

Roman god Bloke held out a chair for the blond woman and took a seat next to her. If he was trying to keep his friends away from him, he could have chosen any of the six tables that are exclusively for two. He had chosen the biggest table in the room and sure enough, Tristan and his mum were the first to go that table. Blond Bloke followed next, in the pretext of taking his wife's handbag to her. Roman god Bloke suppressed a smile as he watched his friends. Hair Bloke and Pale Bloke were the last to leave the table outside. Hair Bloke stood up first and held out a hand to Pale Bloke who took it with a shy smile. If his sisters had been there, Tim was sure they would have gone all teary eyed _'aww'_ right then.

"Well, I think that went well," hair Bloke said, looking at his bloke.

"It's a good start," Pale Bloke replied, with a satisfied smile.

And Tim, who had perfected the art of listening without responding from his years as a bartender, suddenly found himself blurting out, "Yeah, I think it is."

It was not until hair Bloke and pale Bloke turned to look at him that Tim realized he had spoken aloud and spoken out of turn. He was horrified. He is going to lose...

Hair Bloke and Pale Bloke laughed out, Hair Bloke actually put a hand around Tim's shoulder. "Mate, I believe you are right," he said. "You look familiar. Have we met before...?"

As per their tradition, they stayed well past the lunch time opening hours. Besides, they were having so much that Tim did not have the heart to interrupt it.

And when they finally got up and left the café (another hefty tip was waiting for Tim), Tim could not help but to feel happy for them. A group of people with so much happiness and laughter, and concern for each other. They were blessed indeed to have each other.

And Tim felt he too had been lucky to have known them, and in his heart, he wished them well.

=X=X=X=

_**Something that I love a lot is coming to an end…yes, there will be other fics, God willing. But this has gone on for more than a year and it has been a great journey. So, yeah, I am going to miss this. **_

_**Merlin is possibly the best thing that has ever happened to me (see? Watching TV is not as bad as people seem to think it is!). I will miss it much, but I will cherish it for the lovely things I am blessed with, with some thanks to this BBC-made drama. **_

_**THANK YOU SO MUCH. For giving this little fic a bit of your time. _**For all the support, the follows, the favourites, the reviews. **_I appreciate it very much. And I want you to know that each of you have brought much happiness to my life. To quote a doctor from another BBC drama, "...I was so alone... and I owe (all of) you so much..."  
><strong>_

_**Much love,Sharmini **_


End file.
